


Guiding Light

by aurora_beam, LTRisBACK



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AND SWEET, Ace Aziraphale - Freeform, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale is having fun, Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard, Cryptid Aziraphale, Falling In Love, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Guardian Angel AU, Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Very happy ending, ace crowley, all of the fluff, and adorable, it's made of soft, not really any angst along the way either, so soft, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_beam/pseuds/aurora_beam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LTRisBACK/pseuds/LTRisBACK
Summary: The Principality Aziraphale has been in Heaven for most of the 6000 years that Earth has existed for.  Now, he is summoned by the Archangels and given a very specific mission - to guide Antony J. Crowley, Lawyer, and keep him from falling from his path.  No one (except maybe the one giving the orders, whose plans are ineffable) expected them to fall in love...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 61





	1. I'll be your guardian

**Author's Note:**

> This is ALL the fault of my co-author, Aurora, the Ace Omens server and Nen, who begged. It was a very cute idea and I caved far too easily, which isn't likely to change any time soon. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged and helped with this project, I hope it lives up to expectations!

Aziraphale stood at attention in the centre of the white hall, wondering what in Heaven had brought him to the attention of the Archangels. He was a mere principality, why on earth would they be bothering with him? He waited, trying not to fidget, a commander of a battalion should be capable of standing without fidgeting (he’d had more than one demerit marked down for his inability to wait peacefully). 

Finally he heard footsteps approaching and the Archangel Michael, his ultimate commander in the Heavenly Host, entered followed by the Archangel Gabriel. Aziraphale tried to keep his rings under control, to stop them from spinning faster and betraying his unease and uncertainty with the situation. 

“Haven’t they organised a corporation yet?” Gabriel demanded of Michael, who shrugged. Gabriel scowled in a way that said he was absolutely sure that it was Michael’s fault that Aziraphale was not wearing a human corporation. Aziraphale was just confused as to why he would need a corporation. “You heard the order as well as I did, Michael, it has to be him.” 

Michael glared and turned away from Gabriel to face Aziraphale. “Principality Aziraphale,” Michael finally greeted him, and he drew himself even rounder, ensuring all his rings were in the exact configuration to be at full attention. “At ease. You are being reassigned, from now on your direct superior will be the Archangel Gabriel.” Michael then stepped back, and Gabriel stepped forward.

“Principality Aziraphale. You are being reassigned to a mission on Earth,” Gabriel stepped forward. Well, obviously, Aziraphale thought to himself. There wasn’t really another reason to issue an angel with a corporation, but still, why him? He hadn’t been on Earth in millenia, not since he served briefly in the Garden, before he was reassigned and then everything went wrong. “You are being placed as a Guardian for a human who is in danger of losing their way. Your orders, as we received them (Aziraphale nearly winked out of existence as he realised what that phrase indicated) are that you are to guard and guide this soul to keep them where they belong.” Gabriel shifted a folder from under his arm, extending it towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale reached out and tucked the folder into a dimensional pocket held between two of his rings. “Report to the Quartermaster to be issued with your corporation,” Gabriel ordered. “Everything you need to know is in your briefing packet.” 

Aziraphale was in shock. He’d worn a corporation, briefly, in his previous time on earth but it had, of course, been checked back in by the Quartermaster when he’d been recalled. They had decided that Cherubs were a better fit for the job of guarding the Garden, and he understood why. Far more intimidating than a mere Principality. Wearing one hadn’t been at all unpleasant, and he still treasured his memories of his time in the Garden, the feel of soft grass underfoot, the taste of a newly-named ‘pear’, the sensation of water cleansing sticky juices from his fingers. He hadn’t expected to ever be issued with a corporation again; there was no need for an angel who did not serve on Earth to have one, after all. Oh, the Archangels might wear theirs constantly, but that was because there was always a possibility of them being sent to Earth at a moment’s notice. 

Once it became clear that Gabriel had considered that a dismissal, Aziraphale made his way out of the long, white meeting room with its floor to ceiling windows and proceeded down the hallway to the Quartermaster’s office. 

“Ah, Principality Aziraphale, it’s about time you showed up!” The angel in the corporation of a moustachioed man glared at him. “Had your corporation prepared hours ago.” When Aziraphale offered no excuses, he certainly wasn’t going to try to lay blame on the Archangels, the Quartermaster sniffed and went on. “Well, come on then, let’s get you into it.” 

The folding, bending and compressing that followed wasn’t precisely unpleasant, but it didn’t feel particularly good, either. Once it was done and Aziraphale stood once more in the very pale, very blonde body he could remember examining in a reflecting pool, he felt...right. Right in a way he hadn’t in approximately six thousand years. 

He sighed and lifted the folder that was now tucked under his arm, instead of into a convenient section of subspace, and flicked it open. His target(protectee? charge?) was a lawyer. Aziraphale, who spent as much time as he could hanging around the hall of records, knew what a lawyer was, more or less. He began to read through the pages, frowning in concentration. 

Name: Anthony Jay Crowley

Age: 46

Profession: Lawyer

Current status: Wavering. In danger of being undone by continuous attacks from the enemy through his work. In need of moral support and guidance to keep him on the path. 

The next page was a series of photos, showing a tall, skinny human with vibrant red hair, longer than Aziraphale thought was the norm for a male in his profession, a roman nose and sharp angles everywhere. He was striking, in black on black with tiny touches of red. Aziraphale found that he liked the look, that it suited the man he hadn’t even met yet. 

There were many more pages, but the details were all so sparse Aziraphale really wasn’t sure what the person who had put the dossier together had been thinking. Why did he need to know the man’s preferred drink - tea with two sugars, no milk - but not the exact details of what was causing him so much upset he was in danger of losing his way? And why pull an inexperienced angel from unrelated duties instead of assigning a regular guardian? How many guardians were there, even? It was a duty that was spoken of in general, but no one seemed to know any angels who were actually assigned to do it. Well, surely Aziraphale would be finding out. It would be good to get tips and clues from other guardians. 

By the time he reached the end of the folder, his hope had faded. There was no mention of other guardians he could approach, in fact the only contact that was even mentioned was that his direct supervisor and manager was the Archangel Gabriel. Considering that Aziraphale had been five degrees of separation away from Michael in the command structure of the Heavenly Army, this seemed very odd. Well, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it, could he? He was no Archangel, to query celestial power structures. 

Once his corporation was outfitted - whatever had happened to robes? These leg coverings were very different, and the tight-fitting nature of the clothes in general was very odd. He found them extremely comfortable, though. Now he stood at the top of the moving staircase that would carry him from the Heavens down to Earth. He remembered the Golden Staircase he had descended to take up duty in Eden, it hadn’t been much different from this really. Nervously, he reached out with one foot and set it on the top step, watching it travel away from him for a moment before snatching it back. 

“Something wrong, Buddy?” a hand descended on his shoulder, the feeling sharp and then deeply throbbing, not in a pleasant way. He wasn’t sure what to name that feeling. 

“N...no, of course not, Gabriel,” Aziraphale smiled nervously at his superior, who had appeared behind him without warning. 

“Off you go then,” Gabriel gave a slight shove and Aziraphale stumbled onto the escalator, barely keeping himself from falling down the escalator. He found himself on the side of a road in London, nothing on him except his clothes, his folder and a leather wallet that contained a number of hard rectangles, some with numbers on them, one with a picture of his corporation, and some paper with numbers on it. He was fairly sure that that was currency, not dissimilar to his heavenly wages in its own way. 

He flipped open the folder and found the map, and quickly realised he had a problem - he didn’t know where he was currently. A quick miracle and he had a little spot on the map that showed him his current location. He then traced a finger from his location to where Crowley apparently worked. Once he was fairly sure he had worked out a route, he set off. He was quickly brought to a stop, though, by a speeding box-shaped object that came around the corner and almost stuck him. He jumped back, and watched as the thing - what was it? Had that been a person inside it? Continued down the road at speeds he could only achieve while flying. 

He continued on his way, taking the turns that he had memorised on the map, but when he finished his journey he definitely wasn’t where he thought he would be. He pulled out the map and miracled it again, only to find himself much further away from the offices. He had turned the wrong direction down the road at the very start! Retracing his steps, he walked off in the other direction, noting a burning sensation in his legs and a fierce ache building up in his feet. He wondered how humans got from place to place, but he had a sinking suspicion as he saw more and more of the loud, smelly moving boxes that he had encountered that they travelled within them, in much the same way he had read of them travelling in chariots on some of the records tablets when he had snuck into the scriptorium. 

He finally reached an area where there were humans walking along the sidewalk and he was glad to see that he didn’t seem to stand out from them. They didn’t seem to notice that he was different as he slipped along beside them, a deep pervasive ache beginning to spread through his corporation. He had a vague memory of this from Eden, and knew it meant that he needed to sit, to stop and take a rest. He was determined to find the right building before he actually took a rest, though. The Archangels would not approve of that at all. 

He was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other by the time he found himself in front of a building that he recognised from the photographs in the folder. A quick check of the map, accompanied by another miracle, confirmed that he had found the right place. Now he could take a break. Looking around, he found a bench on the edge of the sidewalk, the green paint chipped away in places to allow aged wood to show through. He lowered himself onto it and managed not to groan with relief. 

The sun was almost down, and Aziraphale had no idea where his protectee was. He hoped he was in the office building, but he had no way of knowing. He settled back to wait, unsure of what else he could do. He decided to look through the folder again, hoping that he had missed something, anything, in his first pass. He hadn’t. No page of useful contacts for guardian angels had materialised, neither had a page with the details of Crowley’s current crisis. 

He was startled out of his contemplation of the unsatisfying file by a large drop of water splattering onto his head. He ducked, as though he could avoid it, and looked up to see that it was falling from the sky. He didn’t remember anything like this! It must have been normal enough, though, because the humans weren’t particularly bothered by it. They were taking odd objects out of bags or the highly convenient pockets on their clothing and opening them above their heads. Oh! Little falling-water-shields, how convenient! 

It was as he was contemplating the little water-shields that he saw him. Anthony J. Crowley. His charge. He was standing on the steps of the building he worked in, looking up at the sky in disgust. He turned up the collar of his coat and clearly prepared himself to take the plunge, with no water-shield. The thought was parent to the deed, and Aziraphale found a white water-shield in his hand. He crossed to where Crowley was just stepping onto the sidewalk, clearly braced for the onslaught, and unfurled the large water repeller above both of their heads. Crowley flinched, clearly surprised, and glanced up. 

“Would...would you like to share with me?” Aziraphale asked, the first words he had spoken to this man he was meant to help. 

Crowley looked towards the man who was offering, a refusal on his tongue, only to freeze up at the expression of blatant hope on the other man’s face. He was cute, too, Crowley quickly realised, and he wondered if his luck was about to change. 

“Well, that depends, where are you going?” he enquired. “I’m heading towards Mayfair, my car didn’t want to start today.” Aziraphale, having no idea where exactly that was beyond a dot on a map, and nowhere else to go anyway, just smiled. 

“That would be on my way,” Aziraphale quickly declared. He needed to start building a connection with the human, after all, and it wasn’t like he had any place of his own to go, he suddenly realised. He wasn’t at all sure where Gabriel was intending for him to spend his time away from Crowley, now that he thought about it. “Please, lead on.” 

“McDuff,” muttered Crowley, turning and heading out, Aziraphale keeping pace beside him and being sure to keep the rain-shield well over Crowley’s head. “I’m Crowley, Anthony Crowley,” he introduced himself after a moment. 

“Aziraphale,” Aziraphale introduced himself, then remembered that humans had more than one name these days. He’d barely known Adam and Eve, and there certainly hadn’t been a need for anyone to have more than one name in the Garden! He tried to think quickly, and for some ridiculous reason all that would come to mind was, “Fell. Aziraphale Fell.” 

“Aziraphale, that’s quite the mouthful,” Crowley grinned crookedly at him, eyes dancing with humor, and a flush of warmth went through Aziraphale. He’d felt a little like that in the garden sometimes, when stroking a large cat that was later named a leopard, when cooling his feet in the stream, smelling flowers and admiring bees. It hadn’t been that strong, though, and he wasn’t sure what to call it. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he murmured, when he realised that a response was required before the conversation could move forward. 

“So, Aziraphale, you’re not a local,” Crowley commented, not asked. Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “The umbrella’s a bit of a give-away,” Crowley glanced up at the huge white umbrella that was forcing others to make way around them in a most pleasing way. “An umbrella that size, you’d never use that in London twice, ‘specially not if you’re using it on your own. So, not a local, where did you spring from?” 

“Oh, um…” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to answer. “I...I came from...a long way away,” he finally allowed. “Further away than I can even really imagine.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow, regarding Aziraphale thoughtfully. “Well, that’s a long way,” Crowley agreed. “You might want to invest in a different umbrella if you’re planning on staying, though.” He flicked a finger against the one of the ribs. “This one is not going to win you many friends, other than me.” He grinned. 

Aziraphale smiled back, and Crowley stumbled, almost losing his footing. Crowley spoke quickly, “Wouldyouliketogetsomethingtoeatwithme?” 

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale asked, not having quite understood the question. 

“Ngk,” Crowley’s cheeks flushed red and Aziraphale wondered what was wrong with him. After a moment he took a deep breath and spoke again. “Would you like to get something to eat? With me, I mean?” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He hadn’t considered eating, but he really was quite tired of walking and if they were going to eat then surely they would sit down. “Yes, I think I would rather like that.” He smiled shyly at Crowley, who grinned and nodded. 

“What do you feel like, then?”

“Ahhh…” Aziraphale glanced from side to side, uncertain. “Well, I don’t really know what’s good,” he mumbled, feeling heat rising into his cheeks. He remembered how Crowley had gotten red a few minutes ago and recognised the feeling as one he felt often enough in Heaven - embarrassment. Had that been what Crowley had been feeling?

“Well, not to worry,” Crowley smiled broadly. “There’s a lovely little cafe just around the corner from my apartment, we can go there. Everything there is good.” 

“Sounds lovely, I’m sure,” Aziraphale smiled broadly and settled in to enjoy the walk. 

By the time they reached Soho, Aziraphale could recognise the feeling in his feet - this was pain, true pain, not the aching that had been going on before. He didn’t know why, but his feet hurt rather a lot. 

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked suddenly, frowning down at him. “You’re limping rather a lot.” 

“Just a little footsore, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’ve walked rather further today than I originally intended.” 

Crowley frowned. “If it’s not too forward, would you like to come up to my flat instead? We can order in, and you can take off your shoes and put your feet up.” 

Aziraphale could not imagine what made that suggestion forward, so he decided to ignore that part of the sentence. Taking off the pinchy leather shoes and getting off his feet both sounded like excellent suggestions though, and he smiled broadly. “That sounds absolutely delightful, my dear.” 

With the thought that such relief was now so close, it seemed that his feet ached more fiercely with each moment. Crowley guided him into a building, and took the umbrella, shaking off much of the water outside the door before somehow collapsing it down to its original state. He led Aziraphale into a tiny room and pressed a button on the wall. After a moment, the room gave a lurch and it felt like the floor was pushing up on the bottom of Aziraphale’s feet. He gasped and grabbed for the wall, staring around wildly as he tried to figure out what was happening. 

When the doors reopened, he saw that they were somewhere else and realised that the little room had in fact been moving upwards, just as it had felt. He stumbled when he went to follow Crowley, his legs still feeling funny, and Crowley caught him by one arm. The touch felt utterly indescribable - warm and solid and nothing at all like Gabriel’s hard hand or the Quartermaster’s impersonal touches. Crowley let go as soon as Aziraphale was steady on his feet, another strange expression that Aziraphale couldn’t name on his face and a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. 

He led the way across to a more normal-looking door and opened it with a key, ushering Aziraphale into a space that, in some ways, reminded him of heaven - if the colour scheme had been reversed. There were a great many angles and open spaces, but interspersed with it were things that were nothing like heaven at all, paintings and little sculptures and things that Aziraphale had occasionally caught glimpses of in the scriptorium. 

“Here, come sit on the couch,” Crowley led the way into a room with a long, soft-looking piece of furniture and gestured for Aziraphale to sit. “Take your shoes off, get comfortable. I’ll order dinner.” He then proceeded to pull a strange black rectangle out of his pocket and, flopping down on one end of the couch, started to tap on it. 

Aziraphale sat and drew one foot up into his lap awkwardly, picking at the laces until he figured out how they came undone. Really, not using miracles in front of his charge was going to get very tiring indeed, at least until he figured out how to do more things the human way! He worked the shoe off his foot and sighed with relief as the pinching sensation in his toes eased. He wriggled them, then swapped feet and repeated the process. 

By this time, Crowley had apparently finished with whatever ordering dinner involved as he put the black rectangle away and moved closer, tugging over a rectangular object that appeared to match the couch. “Here, put your feet up on that, don’t want them swelling too much now that you're sitting down,” he instructed. 

Aziraphale raised his feet and went to lower them onto the thing - a feet-seat? - when Crowley hissed and caught one of them out of the air with gentle fingers. “Ooooh, Aziraphale, no wonder you were limping,” his voice was full of sympathy as he peered at the outside of the sock, which Aziraphale now noticed had some odd red patches on it. “You’ve got blisters you’ve rubbed so raw they’re bleeding!” 

Aziraphale looked down at his feet, where Crowley was now carefully drawing his socks off, hissing and tutting. “Your feet are a mess,” he stood and walked away. “I’m going to see what I’ve got to take care of them.” Aziraphale scolded himself fiercely for not realising that his feet were injured before Crowley saw them. He could have figured out how to miracle them healed, if Crowley hadn’t already seen the injuries. Now, the human knew about them. Not only that, but the human he was there to care for was caring for him, and that certainly wasn’t how this was supposed to go. 

Crowley returned with a basin of water, steam rising from the surface, several tubes and a few pieces of fabric. He dipped the cloth in the water, then started dabbing at Aziraphale’s foot. Aziraphale winced as the cloth wiped the blood away from the torn - what did Crowley call them, blisters? 

“Your shoes clearly don’t fit right, Aziraphale,” Crowley commented as he worked. “You wouldn’t get blisters this bad without shoes that were really not your size, even with feet as soft as yours.” Aziraphale watched Crowley’s hands working on his feet, a sensation growing in his chest at the incredibly tender way Crowley was touching him. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt really ice, even as it made him want to curl up his toes and flap his hands. In his true form, this sensation he was sure would have had his rings spinning in a most unseemly fashion, one that would have gained him a severe scolding for lack of decorum. 

“Yes, I suppose they don’t. They were a new pair, and they told me they fit when I got them.” None of that was untrue. “Thank you, Crowley. Anthony. Sorry, I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your evening.” 

“Taking care of an adorable knight in shining armour who should have changed his boots? Maybe not, but I can’t say I really mind, except for the part where you’re in pain.” He paused and smiled up at Aziraphale. “I got to spend time with you, and we’re still going to have dinner together, right? All’s well that ends well, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale found himself smiling back, the redhead’s expression contagious in the extreme. Crowley continued cleaning his feet, then started smearing them with various unguents from the tubes. None of them smelt particularly nice, but none of them smelled noxious either. Just as Crowley was wrapping his feet in layers of fabric - gauze and bandages, Aziraphale had managed to learn without asking - there was a buzzing sound that made Aziraphale jump. 

Crowley eyed him carefully, a concerned expression flashing across his face. “Just the doorbell,” he told him. “That’ll be the food, I’ll just go grab it.” It wasn’t until he was gone that Aziraphale realised that this was the point where he would pay for the food, and Aziraphale really should be paying his part. He went to stand, but his feet throbbed violently and he sank back with a groan. 

Crowley was back in short order, a steaming paper bag held in one arm. Fragrant steam rose from the bag, the scent causing Aziraphale’s mouth to fill with saliva. Crowley quickly finished wrapping Aziraphale’s feet, then opened the bag and began removing a number of containers and smaller bags from within. 

Taking a pair of plates from a sideboard, he began scooping food onto each of them. 

“I hope you like Indian food,” he said, glancing at Aziraphale as he shared the food between the plates. “I got a few different things, thought it would be nice.” 

“Oh, well, I’ve never had it before,” Aziraphale admitted, and Crowley turned to face him fully, eyes wide. 

“Well, there’s no time like the present, then,” Crowley extended one of the plates towards Aziraphale. “I didn’t get anything super spicy, just a little bit of bite to it. There’s butter chicken, lamb rogan josh and beef tikka masala. Also raisin rice and chickpea and vegetable curry...I may have gone a little over the top. There’s garlic roti,” he handed over a paper bag with a type of bread in it, “and mango lassi,” a clear vessel with a white straw filled with a pale yellow substance, “which helps if anything is too hot. Oh, something for dessert, too.” Crowley glanced away, mumbling almost inaudibly. “Too much, why do you always do this, it’s too much.” He seemed upset for a long moment, then pulled himself back and smiled at Aziraphale. “Let’s eat.” 

Aziraphale tried to store away all the words Crowley was pouring into his ears, watching as Crowley pointed to each thing on the plate. Crowley handed him the plate and a metal utensil. Watching what Crowley did, Aziraphale scooped up some of the orangey butter chicken with a piece of the soft, flakey roti and raised it to his lips. 

The pear in Eden had been one of Aziraphale’s best memories for a very long time. The flavours that exploded across his palate with the mouthful of curry were beyond anything he could ever have imagined. There were so many flavours he didn’t even have words for, and all of them blended harmoniously to create a sensation so intensely wonderful it completely overwhelmed him. His eyes slid closed as he moaned around the bite of food, his shoulders wriggling at the pleasure of eating after so long. His hands were full and therefore could not flap to show his absolute joy, so his feet twitched instead. Even the pain from moving his feet could not detract from the pleasure of the moment. 

When his eyes opened again he found Crowley staring at him, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and his fork frozen in midair. Aziraphale cocked his head, and Crowley jerked, coming back to himself. “Ngk,” he managed to force out, then shoved the mouthful of food into his mouth, chewing rapidly as he tried to pull himself back together. 

Aziraphale selected a forkful of a different dish, and now he realised what Crowley had meant by hot. This one zipped across his senses, burning with a gentle intensity that heightened the effect of the other flavours. Picking up the cup of drink he took a sip, and sweet, fruity flavours swept across his tongue, soothing the burn and clearing his palate. 

Crowley sat watching him eat, eyes wide, occasionally remembering to take a bite from his own plate, almost as an afterthought. Every time Aziraphale ate a different morsel he wiggled, and Crowley would almost choke on either the food he was currently eating or his own tongue. 

When the food on his plate was gone, Aziraphale used what was left of his roti to wipe the plate clean. The flavours didn’t mingle as harmoniously as those of each individual dish did, but they were still good and he gave a happy little hum as he sucked a bit of sauce off his thumb. 

Crowley choked for what must have been the tenth time that night, then fumbled for the container of gulab jamun. “Here, try one of these,” he held it out to Aziraphale. “For dessert.” Aziraphale didn’t know what dessert was, but nothing Crowley had given him yet had been bad. He took one of the little balls between finger and thumb, surprised by the squishy, sticky texture. Raising it to his lips, he met Crowley’s eyes as he took a bite. 

The sweetness that spread through his mouth was so different from every other flavour up to this point. There was no counterpoint to it to bring it into balance, it threw itself wholeheartedly into being sweet, and Aziraphale found after a moment that he loved it. Once his tongue was used to the sweetness, he could pick up the much more subtle flavours in the syrup - something that tasted a lot like some incenses did. It enhanced the rest of the flavours, but wasn’t overly strong, not overwhelming in any way. 

The meal was finally done, and Aziraphale was feeling a sensation in his stomach that was pleasant but also almost painful. He thought maybe he had put too much food into his corporation, but he didn’t mind. He relaxed back into his chair and smiled at Crowley, who beamed back, eyes bright. 

“So, Aziraphale, what do you do?” Crowley asked, settling back in his own armchair, propping his feet up on the coffee table since Aziraphale had the footrest. 

“Oh, ummm...I...I protect people,” Aziraphale finally decided on. 

“Like a bodyguard?” Crowley examined the man before him. He was in no way helpless looking, except for his feet, which were still covered in bandages dotted with red. Still, he was just so...soft seeming. 

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Or maybe, I don’t know. My supervisor hasn’t been entirely clear on what my role is.” 

Crowley groaned at that. “Unreliable superiors. Always a pleasure, not.” He cast Aziraphale a sympathetic glance. 

“How about you?” Aziraphale asked. “What’s your job?” 

“Euhhh,” Crowley flapped a hand. “‘S bloody boring, ‘s what my job is. You don’t wanna know about it.” 

“I assure you, my dear, I am interested in everything about you,” Aziraphale’s expression was so sincere that Crowley could not disbelieve him. 

“‘m a lawyer,” he muttered. “Mostly big business mergers these days.” 

“You don’t sound like you enjoy it,” Aziraphale commented. 

Crowley made a face. “It’s complicated. There are parts of it I really do like, but the clients and cases I’ve been getting assigned to lately...I can’t say I’ve been enjoying that work, no. I can’t really say anything more about it, though. Client confidentiality, after all.” 

Aziraphale nodded, impressed by Crowley’s ethics. Deciding to shift the conversation, he cast around for another topic, which was not something he had much experience with. Even in Heaven he hadn’t exactly been a sought out partner for conversation. “You have a lovely home,” he glanced around, taking in what he could see of the flat. Art works and plants were arranged in a very pleasing manner around the room, and the chairs were exceedingly comfortable. “I love your plants, they’re very...vibrant.” 

“Thank you,” Crowley smiled over at them. “I like them to look their best, and put their best leaves forward, especially when meeting new people.” The plants seemed to draw themselves taller as Aziraphale watched. He was watching them when he felt his eyes start to squint shut, and his jaw stretch open. A drawn-out, high pitched noise came from his open mouth, and he flinched, wondering what that was. 

“You’re tired,” Crowley sat up straighter. “It’s getting so late, and...oh dear. Where do you live, exactly?” 

Aziraphale pictured the map in his file-folder in his mind’s eye. He’d seen enough signs outside that he knew they were in Mayfair, and which direction they had approached it from, so he quickly chose a name from the other side of Mayfair. “Soho,” he blurted out. “I live in Soho.” 

“Okay, that’s not too far, but you’re not going to be able to walk on those feet,” Crowley frowned. “My car won’t start - it’s a classic, but sometimes it gets a little cranky. So I can’t drive you. You could get an Uber, I suppose.” His reluctance showed clearly in his tone, then he drew himself up. “Let’s get you home, Aziraphale. I’ll order an Uber for you, and help you down when it arrives.” 

Aziraphale realised that Crowley wanted him to leave. He told himself that he wasn’t hurt, that it surely wasn’t normal for humans to have new acquaintances stay in their dwellings, or even enter their dwellings. After all, they did not have the advantages angels had when it came to sensing the intentions of their fellows. 

He watched as Crowley tapped away at the little black rectangle, wondering what exactly the thing was and how it worked. There were too many questions, and he was becoming more and more aware of how completely unprepared he was to be on earth. Honestly, what did the Archangels even expect him to manage here? He didn’t know what normal things were, he didn’t have a base of operations or a cover story, he didn’t know how anything worked. He felt his breath speeding up and grabbed for it in the same way he would force his rings to obey him in his ethereal form. He managed to stop his breath speeding up, but only by dint of stopping it completely. Hopefully Crowley wouldn’t notice that he just wasn’t breathing. 

He followed Crowley back out of the flat and into the tiny room, which this time he heard Crowley name: a lift. It took them back down to street level, and he saw one of the moving boxes he’d observed earlier in the day. What had Crowley called it, an uber? But he’d also mentioned his car. So were they called ubers or cars? 

Aziraphale’s thoughts ran faster and faster, getting away from him in a real hurry. He’d given Crowley the name of a random street in Soho, but he had no idea where he was going to go when he got there. 

“Thank you for a lovely meal,” he told Crowley as the slightly taller man helped him into the car, taking a lot of his weight. He would, at least, be able to heal his feet once he was away. “And the excellent company. I enjoyed myself immensely.” 

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for spending the evening with me. It made it...by far the best evening I have had in a very long time.” Crowley glanced away. “Look, I know we only just met, but...here’s my number, call or text and we can do...something, anything?” Aziraphale took the piece of paper and glanced down at it. A series of numbers was scrawled across it. He memorised it automatically, but he still clung to the piece of paper, some part of him not able to let it go. He smiled at Crowley, somehow keeping the panic at bay as he realised how big the world was and how lost he was in it. Crowley, in the brief time they had spent together, had become his lodestone, the only thing that was guiding him. He wanted to cling to him in the same way he was clinging to the scrap of paper. 

The uber (he knew this one was an uber, Crowley had said so, he would solve the mystery of the ‘car’ later) pulled away, and Aziraphale waved to Crowley before turning to face the front. Without his permission, his corporation started breathing again, and refused to stop. He didn’t know what to do, where to go or how to get there. 

“Dude, you okay? Are you having a panic attack back there?” the driver twisted in his seat, turning to look back at Aziraphale. Aziraphale yelped as he realised the human was still driving while NOT watching where they were going. 

“Wha….LOOK!” he yelled, pointing back to the road, where another uber was heading straight towards him. Before he could think, he snapped his fingers, and they were suddenly stationary on the side of the road. 

“What...what happ...what did…” the young man’s eyes rolled up in his head. Aziraphale sat and shook in the back seat for several long moments, trying to get his breathing under control. Everything was just so big, and he was realising just how small and ill-informed he was in the middle of this maelstrom. How was he supposed to help Crowley? Oh, the meal tonight had been lovely, but in many ways Crowley had helped him far more than vice-versa. How was he meant to help the human when he couldn’t understand half of what was said around him, or that he saw. 

Aziraphale leant forward and snapped his fingers next to the driver’s ear, making him forget what had happened, and opening his wallet he looked through the money. There were different numbers on the notes, and after some consideration he took out one that said ‘fifty’, leaving it on the empty passenger seat. It took him a few moments to figure out the door handle, but at last he was standing on the sidewalk - and remembering very quickly why that wasn’t the best thing. Another snap brought relief as his feet healed, and then he snapped again, thinking about his shoes fitting right (he didn’t really know what that meant, but he thought about them holding his feet comfortably, not pinching tight in some places and loosely rubbing in others, and the result seemed satisfactory. He supposed he would find out quickly enough. 

Now he stood on the sidewalk and cast his eyes one way, then the other, trying to decide where he should go. Many of the windows were dark, clearly already closed up for the night, but there were enough that were obviously open that he could see he had options. He decided to walk along and look in the windows, see what he could see. 

The first few, he couldn’t see through the windows, but the sounds that filtered out the open doors were too much for him to consider entering, the music too boisterous and the sounds of people too overwhelming. Then he came to the next window. He could see in through this one, to a relatively well-lit space filled with tables and chairs. There weren’t many people around, but a woman at the counter smiled at him when she saw him outside the window, and pointed to a sign - 24 Hour Service. That, at least, Aziraphale could figure out. He would be able to stay there all evening if he wanted, and presumably if he kept paying for something. He went in. 

The lady bustled out from behind the counter with a friendly grin. “‘ello luv, come ta keep me company, eh?” 

Aziraphale found himself led right to a table and sat down, a constant stream of conversation filling his ears and keeping him from needing to respond. Soon a list of foods and drinks with prices was put into his hand. He read it and decided that, as much as he had eaten and the way his stomach felt, he should probably just drink something. 

“What would you recommend to drink?” Aziraphale asked, looking up at the waitress. 

“Well, I make a wonderful cuppa, if I do say so meself, dearie. How about I make you a pot?” With that incredibly unenlightening statement she made her way back behind the counter and began moving things around. Aziraphale decided just to go with it, if he didn’t like the drink it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. 

There was a thick wad of folded papers on the table, and when Aziraphale picked it up he realised it was covered in writing, in stories about things that had been happening in the world. Finally, some intelligence that might actually prove useful! He began to read, his brain filing things away until they could be made sense of, a better and stronger picture of what the world was like in this day and age than heaven had provided. 

When the tea came back, it came with so many pieces of crockery Aziraphale couldn’t comprehend it. There was a large (very hot, oops) pot with a curved spout, one full of a white liquid that he thought might be the milk of a cow, a little glass jar with a metal lid and a hole that would allow it to pour out the little crystals it was filled with and a large mug in which he was meant to combine these things to create a drink for himself. What an adventure! 

He started with just the hot liquid, which he sipped cautiously and still managed to burn his tongue. It wasn’t bad (what he could taste of it around the heat) but he added some of the milk and tried again. A definite improvement. He tipped a few of the crystals onto the palm of his hand and tasted them - sweet. He poured some into the tea and, swirling his finger above the liquid, stirred it. He took a sip and sighed with pleasure - now, that was a good drink. He settled in to read the paper and drink tea. 

When Aziraphale finally surfaced, the sun had risen again outside. He stood and stretched, looking over to the counter where a different woman, one with just as friendly an expression but about twenty less years of life lived, had replaced the waitress of the night before. She crossed to him, a smile playing about her lips. 

“Leaving us, darl? It’s eighteen pounds, for the tea.” Aziraphale smiled back and pulled out his wallet to pay. “If you want to use the facilities before you go, they’re back there,” she added. “Sheryl told me you had four pots of tea last night without moving, and then there’s the two I made you this morning.” She looked at him in concern. “You must be bursting, really.” 

Aziraphale had no idea what she was talking about, but not wanting to make her suspicious he followed where she was pointing and found himself in a small white room with two pieces of furniture, one that looked like you were supposed to sit on it, one that seemed to be a basin, with a silver spout and handle attached. He went to the seat first, examining it carefully. There was water in the bottom, and he had a sudden thought - this was how humans dealt with their waste, now. As many of them are there were these days, they couldn’t just bury it, he supposed. He pressed the large round button on top and watched as water swirled down into the bowl, and saw how cleverly it would carry the waste away. Then he crossed to the basin and lifted the handle. Water shot out of the spout, splattering out and soaking his waistcoat. Aziraphale dodged back and adjusted the handle until the water was flowing more gently, then dipped his hands into it. The sensation of flowing water reminded him strongly of the garden, and he smiled sadly. 

Shutting the water off, he glanced around and found paper that he thought must be meant to dry his hands. He wiped them off and disposed of the paper in a bin that already held several similar pieces. 

On the sidewalk outside the cafe he glanced around, honestly not sure where he should be going. What was he supposed to be doing with his time when he wasn’t with Crowley? Should he be looking for other people he could help? Should he be establishing himself in the human world? His assignment was currently open ended and virtually without any instruction given on his expected behaviour he didn’t know what he should be doing. 

He decided to take a walk and see what he could learn about humans through observation, for now.


	2. I'll be your keeper for life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has joined us on this amazing ride! We are having a great deal of fun putting this story together, and we're really grateful to everyone who has taken the time to click the kudos button or leave a comment. Thanks so much!

Things Aziraphale had learnt his first day of randomly wandering around London: 

\- The little rectangular device Crowley had used was something called a ‘smartphone’ and among its many functions it was capable of instant communication.  
\- The little plastic squares in his wallet with numbers on them were something called a credit card, which would allow him to pay for things without money.  
\- People really didn’t like his big umbrella, particularly when he was the only one using it. After getting yelled at for the second time he collapsed it and waited until the people who had seen it were gone, then miracled it smaller and put it up again.  
\- There were too many people.  
\- The card with his picture had an address on it. When he went to look at it he found a two-storey house that was, based on the amount of dust lying around and the smell of the air inside, clearly unoccupied. 

Aziraphale stood in what was clearly a sitting room, taking in his surroundings. A snap of his fingers cleaned away the significant amount of dust, almost the depth of his thumbnail thick, far too much to live with. 

He wandered from room to room, finding various different pieces of furniture. Compared to Crowley’s, all of it looked old, not bad, just old, all well padded with slightly worn tapestried fabric covers. There was a room that was clearly meant for the preparation of food, and another just for eating it. The idea of being able to make his own food was rather exciting, but since he had no idea where to even begin, Aziraphale put it aside for now. 

There were odd wooden racks on some walls, multiple levels of horizontal wood that looked as though they were meant to hold things - one of them did have a few little ceramic objects arrayed on it - but they were empty. There was a room with plumbing like at the shop, and another with a much larger basin he thought might have been meant to hold his entire body, and three rooms with large padded slabs that Aziraphale was fairly sure humans used for sleeping, and storage that contained several pieces of clothing. 

Well, he now had somewhere to go when he wasn’t with Crowley. Back in the living room, he found a very odd object sitting on a table beside the couch. There was a handle on top and when he lifted it the thing made an odd, high-pitched noise. There was a spinning dial on the front, with numbers and letters. Aziraphale tried turning the dial, and the noise stopped. It took several minutes and different methods of turning the rotor to figure out how to dial a number. Remembering the number Crowley had given him last night, he tried dialling it, running the rotor carefully around to match the digits Crowley had provided. 

Once all the numbers had been dialled, Aziraphale heard a different noise come down the phone line, which startled him to the point of snatching the phone away from his ear. He carefully returned it and listened, waiting to see what would happen. 

“Hello?” the cessation of the ringing tone and the sound of Crowley’s voice almost made Aziraphale drop the phone, but he managed to hold onto it. 

“Crowley? It’s Aziraphale,” having identified himself, he wasn’t sure what else he should say, really. 

“Aziraphale!” The relief in Crowley’s voice was an emotion Aziraphale had no trouble identifying, having heard it in his own voice many times. “Oh good, I was worried. How are you? Did you get home safely?” 

Aziraphale’s face stretched in a smile at hearing that Crowley had been concerned for him. “I’m fine, my dear, how are you?” 

“Eh, yeah, ‘m fine. You get home okay?” 

Aziraphale smiled as he realised he could now answer this question truthfully, he hated having to lie to Crowley. “Yes, I’m all settled in.” 

“Settled in? Right, you only arrived yesterday didn’t you. Are you renting?” 

“Ummm, no, not exactly. The house belongs to my...employers. It’s mine to live in now that I’m the person assigned to London.” 

“Ahhh, that’s a nice perk,” Crowley’s smile was very audible in his voice. “So, I can’t stay on the phone for long, I’ve got a meeting shortly, but would you like to meet up for dinner? My car is fixed so I can pick you up, take you somewhere nice?” 

Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm once more, but he wasn’t feeling embarrassment this time. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, really. Well, here was an excellent reason for him to get closer to Crowley, which was in fact his purpose here (he was fairly sure. After all, Crowley was who he was supposed to be protecting so that must be it, right? 

“That sounds delightful, Anthony, I would be delighted.” He gave his address and Crowley declared that he would pick him up at about 7 o’clock, which led to Aziraphale wondering how to tell the time. “What’s the time now, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“It’s just after two,” Crowley told him. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Aziraphale, I have to go now.” 

“Alright, my dear, off with you,” Aziraphale smiled and lowered the phone back onto its cradle. 

He had five hours to fill, what was he going to do with his time? He decided to head back out and see what else he could learn before then. 

He wandered down the streets, watching the humans going about their days. The sky had cleared, the sun now shining down, and he followed several humans and a large dog into an enormous garden. 

The trees were beautiful, and everywhere Aziraphale turned there was something else to look at. The plants, the sky, the people, the pets...and then he found the river. There were so many birds floating around on the water, and with the laughter of the many small humans in his ears, he leant on the metal wall separating the riverbank from the path to watch them. 

There was something so absolutely charming about watching a duck awkwardly waddle down to the water, leading a string of tiny fluff ball ducklings, then watching them glide out gracefully onto the water, and the tiny ducklings who looked so utterly adorable zipping around their mothers. 

A discordant sound had Aziraphale snapping around, looking for its source. The wail drew his eyes quickly to a little boy who had clearly fallen on the path. While a few adults glanced towards them, none moved to help. Aziraphale clicked his fingers, a small miracle to bring the attention of a responsible adult, then a second time to ensure there were no injuries more severe than the little bit of blood he could see. Moments later, a woman hurried from behind a tree, glancing around frantically before swooping the little boy up, peppering kisses over his face. Aziraphale smiled and watched as the boy stopped crying, then began to laugh, and when he wiggled out of his mother’s arms and began to run with her laughing and chasing after him, face alight with joy. 

Three hours, eight minor miracles and a pot of tea later Aziraphale was back at the house, with just enough time to make sure he looked presentable to meet Crowley. He made his way to the room with the ‘facilities’ as the lady in the cafe had named them, and ran some water to splash on his face before snapping his fingers, freshening his clothes and cleaning away anything that had gotten on them during his various rambles. 

A loud jangling filled the house and Aziraphale jumped, looking around wildly for the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from the front hall, so he went down and, after a moment, opened the door. 

Crowley was standing on his doorstep, grinning broadly, and Aziraphale felt his face spread in an answering grin. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley paused, seming unsure what else to say, then swivelled side on and swept an arm towards the street, where a gleaming black beast was waiting on the sidewalk. “Your chariot awaits.” He extended a crooked arm towards Aziraphale, and after a moment the angel realised what he wanted and tucked a hand into his elbow. 

“Where are we going, my dear?” Aziraphale allowed Crowley to draw him out of the house and down to the car - Crowley had called this one his car, so Azirphale knew that it, at last, was not an Uber. 

“There’s a lovely little Italian restaurant I’m rather fond of,” Crowley opened the car door and helped Aziraphale into the seat, then handed him the seatbelt. 

Aziraphale puzzled over the piece of fabric for a moment, then found the metal buckle. Glancing around, he noticed a piece of metal beside his hip that appeared to have a slot cut in it to accept the piece in his hand and attempted to fit them together. After a little fumbling he achieved it, just as Crowley opened the door on the other side and slid behind the wheel. 

Being driven by Crowley, and in the front seat, was an exercise in control. Aziraphale ended up lacing all his fingers together to prevent himself from snapping as they wove their way through city traffic, Crowley judging distances to a hair’s breadth to maneuver between the other cars. 

Finally, after a heartracing ten minutes, he pulled up outside a shop front with a dimly lit window and closed wooden door. Crowley exited the vehicle before Aziraphale could see what he had done to get his seatbelt off. Aziraphale tugged and jiggled, fiddling with the mechanism but couldn’t seem to get it to let go. There was a section of the outer mechanism that could be depressed, but it didn’t seem to do anything. 

Crowley opened the passenger door and glanced inside. “Oh, sorry, it sticks sometimes,” he apologised and slid closer, leaning over Aziraphale to jam his thumb down much more firmly on the button, causing it to spit out the buckle which quickly retracted across Aziraphale’s body, making him jump. 

Unfortunately, jumping led to his head knocking against Crowley’s sharply, and they both winced back. Crowley quickly withdrew from Aziraphale’s space and offered his arm once more. Aziraphale carefully unfolded himself from the car, carelessly clicking his fingers to ensure that Crowley suffered no lasting damage from the knock. 

They made their way to the door, and if Aziraphale hadn’t been accompanied here he would have thought they were in the wrong place. No large signs nor even a brightly lit window to attract attention, just a small hand-painted piece on the door declaring the name ‘Nonna’s Kitchen”. Crowley opened the door, and a wave of incredible scent rolled out to envelop them. Aziraphale drew it deep into his lungs as he walked with Crowley into the building, the door softly closing behind them. 

Inside, the decor completely belied the exterior of the building. Lovely wooden tables with beautifully crafted chairs were carefully spaced around to give each table their own little area, and there was at least one candle set on each table, creating an atmosphere with little pools of light glowing in the relatively dim interior, as though each table was its own private space. There were a few tables occupied, all spaced well away from each other to allow for privacy, but when Crowley walked in the door it seemed like everything in the restaurant stopped for a long moment. 

Then one of the waitresses rushed for the swinging doors at the back of the room, and a swift babble of Italian could be heard before those doors swung shut again. Crowley sighed, then smiled as a middle-aged woman came to greet them from where she had been standing at the side. 

“Hello, Rosa,” He nodded, and Rosa beamed. 

“Mister Crowley. So lovely to have you with us again! And who is your friend?” 

“This is Aziraphale,” Crowley introduced him with a slight hand gesture. “Aziraphale, this is Rosa, the...hmmm, you’re the third generation yourself, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, indeed, my children are the fourth,” Rosa beamed. 

“Rosa’s family has had a restaurant in this spot since they emigrated after World War Two,” Crowley explained. “Rosa’s great-grandparents started it. It’s been in the family ever since.” Aziraphale was surprised, for someone who had apparently lived in England her entire life, Rosa had quite a different accent from most of the humans he had spoken with so far, Crowley included. 

“Thanks to you, Mister Crowley,” Rosa patted Crowley’s arm, then turned. “Come, let me get you a table, we can’t have such honoured guests standing around, Nonna would never let me hear the end of it.” 

Crowley straightened slightly, a slightly strained expression appearing on his face. “Is...is she here tonight?” he inquired in what he probably thought was a relaxed tone, but Aziraphale could both hear and feel the tension in him. 

“She’s out the back. My Nicky already went to tell her you’re here. Come, come, sit.” She gestured to a table in the corner, and Crowley gently disengaged from Aziraphale to pull out a chair for him, then sat himself on the other side of the table. “Now, you know that Nonna is going to have opinions, is there anything I can get you before she takes over?” A conspiratorial smile lurked on the edges of Rosa’s lips, and Crowley chuckled, shaking his head. 

“No need, Rosa, you know Nonna will just cancel the order anyway. Whatever she cooks up for us will be fine, unless there’s something in particular you wanted, Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale had been feeling quite out of the loop on what exactly was going on, but at the same time he’d been enjoying sitting back and watching Crowley interact with others. Before he could do more than stutter a polite negative, the door to what must have been the food preparation area was swinging open once more and the young man, barely more than a child, who had run in there emerged, accompanied by a tiny, wizened woman with the straightest posture Aziraphale had seen on anyone who wasn’t an Archangel, hair even whiter than his own corporations and dark eyes. Her face was creased in an enormous frown and she approached the table swiftly, eyes fixed on Crowley. 

“Anthony Crowley! What do you mean by not coming around in so long? How am I going to feed you up if you do not come to eat the food Nonna makes, huh?” Crowley shrunk down in his chair, and the tiny woman jabbed a finger at him accusingly. “Look at you! Nothing but skin and bones! Well, tonight you eat a good meal! And you take home the leftovers! I am not about to let the man who saved my family’s livelihood starve himself to death!” The expression on her face changed so suddenly it was as though someone had flipped a switch. “It’s lovely to see you, darling boy. Don’t leave it so long next time. I’m going to go make your dinner now.” She turned and bustled swiftly away from the table, leaving Crowley looking distinctly embarrassed. 

Aziraphale found himself rather amused by Crowley’s clear discomfort. He leant back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. Crowley narrowed his eyes and scowled. 

“You’re enjoying this,” the accusatory tone made Aziraphale make a sound he hadn’t heard before - a high-pitched little hiccup of noise that had him clapping his hand over his mouth. “Look at you! You’re giggling!” The grin that was spreading over Crowley’s face warmed Aziraphale in a way he couldn’t quite explain. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Aziraphale glanced around the restaurant, trying to find something to distract himself from the humour of the situation and a scrap of the previous conversation struck him suddenly. “You saved their livelihood?” 

“Oh, that,” Crowley looked away, embarrassed. “Yeah, well. A developer was trying to force them out of the building so he could bulldoze it. He tried multiple methods to force them out at the same time, and alongside utilising some men to strong-arm them and trying to make it impossible for customers to reach them, he brought legal action against them. I took the case on pro-bono, and we managed to prove the connections between the developer and the thugs...long story short, we stopped him from taking the restaurant and he ended up paying damages covering the loss of business due to his interference. Anyway, Nonna and Rosa are...grateful and protective, I suppose you could say.” 

“Well, it sounds like you deserve their gratitude, my dear,” Aziraphale beamed at him. “So, what are we eating tonight?” 

“Ngggk, well, yeah maybe. As far as dinner goes, I dunno. Nonna always does something different. Pasta of some description definitely, probably something with seafood or beef steak as well, and a dessert, and it will all be delicious, that I guarantee.” He settled back in his chair and grinned across the table. “So, what did you get up to today?” 

“Oh, this and that, not much, really. Went for a walk, cleaned the house a bit.” 

“You went for a walk? What about your feet?” Crowley leaned forward, face creasing in a concerned frown. 

“Oh, well, they’re fine, really,” Aziraphale shrugged. “All better. You did an excellent job cleaning them up.” 

Crowley frowned at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not having me on, are you? I mean, you weren’t limping, I guess, but…” he was cut off from saying anything else by the arrival of Rosa with plates, a basket and a small bowl. 

“Veal piccata with linguine,” Rosa told them. “Stone-baked bread and butter. Shall I bring you a complimentary wine?” 

“Please, Rosa,” Crowley nodded. Aziraphale picked up his fork and lifted a piece of meat from the creamy coloured sauce, with one of the small green balls balanced on top. He raised it to his lips and closed his eyes, taking a deep sniff before he opened his lips and slipped the morsel in. On the other side of the table, Crowley stopped breathing as he watched the other man savour the mouthful, shoulders giving a very happy wiggle. Aziraphale sighed happily, very much enjoying the play of flavours over his tongue, sour, creamy and, when he crunched into that little green ball, delightfully salty. 

The rest of the meal passed in a very enjoyable haze of amazing food, good wine (the first Aziraphale had ever tasted) and excellent company. Aziraphale kept the focus on Crowley as much as possible simply because he didn’t have answers to so many of the questions humans apparently asked each other. He found it was easy enough to do when he started hunting for more details about how, exactly, Crowley had nailed the man for all of his misdeeds. This quickly uncovered a side of Crowley that Aziraphale hadn’t even begun to guess existed, a side that seemed to want nothing more than to throw itself into danger for the greater good. He had spied, lied, snuck around in back alleys and construction sites until he had the evidence he needed to prove the man’s wrongdoing. As terrifying as Aziraphale found some of the descriptions of his deeds, the way they made Crowley light up was so beautiful he found he couldn’t bring himself to speak against them. 

Once the first two dishes, and the bread basket, had been cleared away, two cups of a steaming hot beverage were brought to the table along with a single bowl. 

Aziraphale surveyed the bowl in the middle of the table, then glanced up at Crowley to find him having an intense non-verbal conversation with Rosa. After a moment, Rosa gave an enigmatic smile and turned away, leaving them with two spoons and a single dish. 

“Sorry about this,” Crowley was clearly embarrassed but Aziraphale wasn’t sure why. Sharing food didn’t really seem like a big deal to him. “You have it.” He pushed the bowl over towards Aziraphale and lifted his cup to his lips even as he settled in to watch. 

“Nonsense, my dear fellow, we can certainly share,” Aziraphale pushed the bowl back to the middle, then used his spoon to take a small scoop of the pale cream, surprised to feel the second texture inside. He brought the spoon to his mouth and tasted the cream on its own - sweet, smooth, not a particularly strong flavour. He put the entire spoonful into his mouth and found himself startled and almost overwhelmed by the sweet, bitter flavours that flooded out of the middle of the cream. His eyes widened as he stared down at the dish. 

“That...is amazing. What’s it called?” 

“It’s tiramisu. Have you never had it before?” Crowley looked surprised, and Aziraphale guessed this must be a fairly common dessert. 

“Ummm...no, I haven’t. It’s very good,” Aziraphale looked away, embarrassed. He’d hardly tried anything, really. How was he supposed to tell Crowley how much he hadn’t had or done? This was so difficult, how was he supposed to help Crowley when there was so much he couldn’t tell him? He wanted to just blurt it out, but he surely couldn’t do that! 

Flustered, Aziraphale lifted his own cup and took a quick sip. He just barely managed to swallow the liquid, it startled him so much. Some part of him had obviously been expecting tea, and whatever this was, it wasn’t tea. It tasted similar to the tiramisu, but without the cream to offset it it was much more bitter. Now even more flustered, he set the cup down hastily and ducked his head. 

“Aziraphale? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Crowley reached across the table and gently bumped his knuckles against Aziraphale’s, drawing his gaze upwards, and smiled gently when their eyes met. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil it, let’s enjoy the dessert, yeah?” 

Aziraphale found it impossible to keep feeling bad when Crowley looked at him like that, and smiled tentatively back, then took another spoonful of tiramisu with a happy sigh. When he gave Crowley a somewhat pointed look, the redhead picked up his spoon and helped himself to a large scoop, smacking his lips noisily and making Aziraphale giggle. They shared the dish, taking sips of the coffee (“How’s your coffee?” Crowley had asked, cluing Aziraphale into the name) and mostly just looking at each other. It made Aziraphale feel far more comfortable than he had ever believed it was possible to feel. He had certainly never felt like this in Heaven. 

Finally, the meal was over, and Rosa waved them out to the Bentley. Aziraphale was feeling slightly off balance, and he wasn’t sure why. Could something from the meal be affecting him? Crowley appeared fine, though, and Aziraphale dismissed the thought. 

Soon enough they were on their way back, and Aziraphale found himself decidedly sad that they would be parting ways so soon. So sad was he, in fact, that when they reached the house he found himself stumbling his way through an invitation to enter without really thinking it through. 

Crowley accepted readily enough, and soon they were inside the house and Aziraphale was realising how out-of-place Crowley, with his incredibly sleek choice of furnishings, was in the no longer dusty but obviously very out-of-date fittings in the house. 

“So, this is what your work provides for people who come in from out of town?” Crowley asked, glancing around. “Well, the space is nice, and the furnishings are cozy, I’ve certainly seen worse. You’re quite lucky. Is there anything in the cellar?” 

“Cellar?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around. 

“House like this, it’s sure to have a cellar. Anyone’s guess as to whether it’s even been converted from holding coal, but if it has, there might be something...worthwhile...down there.” He led the way through the lower story, and made a pleased noise when he found a small door Aziraphale had overlooked earlier. Crowley opened it carefully and peered through it into the dark, then took out his phone and did something that made a bright light shine from one side of it. He aimed the beam of light down through the open doorway, illuminating the stairs that led downwards. Crowley made to go through the door, and Aziraphale swiftly snapped his fingers, strengthening the stairs and clearing away any dust or other mess that may be lying in wait in the dark. 

They made their way down the stairs, and the noises they made underfoot made Aziraphale very happy he’d used the miracle to make them stronger. They reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves in a fairly small, cold room. Crowley was clearly looking for something, and after a moment he made a satisfied sound. He crossed the floor to a wooden rack filled with glass bottles and ran his fingers over them, gently easing one or two out to examine them. 

“Did anyone tell you this was here? Or that there was anything in the house you weren’t to help yourself to?” Crowley inquired. 

“All I really got was a key,” Aziraphale lied. He hadn’t even been given that much, truth be told. “Nothing else. Why?” 

“Because, not that I really care either way, if they didn’t tell you this was off-limits, you’re allowed to drink it I reckon.” He took another bottle out and whistled softly. “There’s some really nice wine here, whoever bought this knew their stuff. Most of it’s pretty old, too, should be tasty.” Remembering the wine from dinner, Aziraphale smiled. It had been very pleasant, fruity but leaving his mouth feeling pleasantly dry, a combination of words he wouldn’t have thought possible before he experienced it for himself. “Shall we crack open a bottle? It’s your company, you’d know more about how they might react than I would.” 

Aziraphale weighed the options. It was unlikely, possibly in the extreme, that the wine belonged to any of the Archangels. At the same time...it just wasn’t worth the risk that it did. The things they could do to him in punishment for taking something he wasn’t supposed to were terrible to consider. At that, it may even have been put here as a test of what he would do if confronted with this type of temptation. After a minute, he sighed loudly. “Best not, probably,” he told Crowley. “I’ll sound a few people out, if I get the chance. For now, can I offer you some tea?” 

Crowley smiled, shrugged and followed Aziraphale back up the stairs and into the kitchen. Aziraphale snapped his fingers subtly and a packet of tea bags appeared in a cupboard, (unknowingly) filched from a nearby corner shop. Milk appeared in the fridge, courtesy of the same shop, and sugar in the bowl. 

Aziraphale lifted the kettle and filled it at the sink, then set it back where it had been resting. He then began poking at the object it was sitting on, trying to figure out how to make it create heat. 

“Never had a gas burner stove, either, have you?” Crowley sounded both amused and curious, but Aziraphale simply shook his head and allowed Crowley to gently nudge him aside, watching closely how he manipulated the ‘stove’ into producing a bright blue flame. Crowley shifted the kettle slightly so it sat right in the middle of the flame, then stood back. 

Aziraphale hastily busied himself getting out cups and the other, quickly miracled, accoutrements for tea drinking. He laid them out on the counter, and waited for the kettle to be ready. He hadn’t expected the piercing whistle it would produce when it was, and he ducked before realising what was going on. 

Now Crowley was really looking at him, and Aziraphale realised that things were just getting too odd not to give some kind of explanation for. He quickly busied himself making two cups of tea, racking his brain for anything he could tell the human to explain all the oddities that surrounded him. He couldn’t think of anything, literally nothing but the truth coming to mind. 

“How do you like your tea, my dear?” 

“Just white, no sugar, thank you,” Crowley replied with a slight smile. Aziraphale carefully added a splash of milk to one cup and offered it to Crowley with a spoon. He took it and stirred it, then lifted the milk and added just a touch more. “Perfect, thank you, angel,” he said, setting the milk down on the bench and lifting the cup to take a sip, not noticing the way Aziraphale’s back suddenly stiffened. Aziraphale quickly prepared his own cup, then led the way through the lounge, still racking his brains on what to say. He was at a loss for anything other than the truth, he didn’t know what else he could possibly use to explain everything. 

Once sitting, Aziraphale set his cup down, suddenly not thirsty. With nothing else to do, one of his hands began to worry at the soft edge of one of his outer garments. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, but it seemed he wouldn’t have to as Crowley leaned forward and spoke intensely. 

“Where are you from, Aziraphale? Who sent you out into the world so totally unprepared for everything you would encounter here and thought that was a good plan?” 

Aziraphale swallowed hard, now lacing his fingers together to hold them still, and stared down at his hands. This was it, the moment of truth. How would Crowley take it? “I...I’m an angel. A Principality, technically. I was ordered down on guardian duty…” once he had started talking it was as though he had opened the floodgates at the whole story just spilled out, willy-nilly. He didn’t look up from his hands, or he might have noticed the stiffening of Crowley’s face when he realised Aziraphale had been ordered to be his guardian, and that was why he had approached him in the first place. 

Crowley looked rather sceptical at first, but a quick finger snap and freshly heated tea, and another that switched the colour of Aziraphale’s coat to a very pleasing taupe, soon had him convinced. Then he frowned, eyes darkening as he thought. 

“So…the only reason you came up to me in the street…” Crowley looked as though he was sucking on a lemon as he put the pieces together. “The only reason we’ve been spending time together was because I was your...assignment?” 

“No!” Aziraphale blurted out, horrified. “No, my dear boy, of course not! I may not have chosen this assignment for myself, but I must admit that getting to know you has quite possibly been the greatest joy in my entire existence. Please, do not feel that I don’t truly seek out this connection, because I absolutely do.” 

“Okay, okay, angel, it’s okay,” Crowley leaned forward and reached out to grab Aziraphale’s hands. “I believe you, it’s alright. Thank you for being brave enough to tell you the truth. It’s...a lot, but...I really appreciate it.” 

“I couldn’t keep lying,” Aziraphale admitted. “I didn’t actually know enough to keep lying, to hide things from you. I didn’t want to lie, anyway, but I couldn’t have if I wanted.” 

Crowley frowned, his face turning dark. “They just sent you here, with nothing, no one to help you. Not even shoes that actually fit your feet. I’m so mad at them, angel. They left you with NOTHING! Hell, when I sent you ‘home’ the other day...you didn’t actually have anywhere to go, did you, because you said you figured out this place the day after that. Oh my god, Aziraphale, so many things could have happened to you in the time you’ve been on Earth. You could have been hit by a car, you could have been mugged in the street, you could have been killed! And it’s all their fault!”

“Crowley, no, you mustn’t! They didn’t do it on purpose, I’m sure, they just didn’t have anyone who knew…” 

“So there was no one who could give you the heads up on everything down here? I find that hard to believe, unless you’re saying there hasn’t been a single angel assigned to Earth in the last few hundred years.” Crowley pulled a sceptical face at Aziraphale’s attempt to excuse the Archangels from their negligence. 

“Well, I don’t know about that. I was only assigned down for a brief period, back in the Garden, and I was pulled from duty there before any of that business with the fruit. Eve was lovely. Adam was...well. He had some admirable qualities, but he really was as thick as two short planks. Eve had her work cut out for her to keep him from giving things the worst names. ‘Sharp-toothed wriggle vine’ comes to mind. ‘Meower’ and ‘Woofer’, too, he had a real thing for naming them after the noises they made. And if they didn’t make noise - well, ‘Scaley Swimmer’ was a hard one to talk him out of. Anyway, I’m getting off track. I haven’t been in any position to know about Earth assignments since then, I’ve been assigned to the Heavenly Host. I mean, someone obviously had this house, although it was so full of dust I don’t know how long it had been empty for. Thank Heaven for miracles, if I’d been trying to clean it up on my own...it would have been impossible.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that someone was down here recently enough that this house has modern plumbing, electricity, gas and a phone. They apparently were here long enough to develop some pretty good taste in wine. Ergo, there was someone here recently enough and for a long enough period to have a solid understanding of how Earth worked who could have explained a hell of a lot to you. And they didn’t bother with any of that, just shoved you into a body you’d hardly ever used, put you in clothes you weren’t used to to the point that you couldn’t tell your shoes were mangling your feet, and sent you out into the world armed with nothing more than a map and a few photos.” 

“Well, I suppose, when you put it that way…” Aziraphale just shrugged, no longer able to come up with any arguments defending the archangels. “They did seem rather rushed, when they sent me down here.” 

“Well, never mind them, anyway. They’re useless. You’ve got me, now. I’m gonna teach you everything you need or want to know, I promise you that.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hands, which he had never released. “I’m gonna take care of you.”


	3. I'll be your angel on call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reads his first book, watches TV for the first time, and Crowley takes him on a shopping trip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had a great deal of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as we have enjoyed creating it! Thanks for reading, and everyone who takes the time to tap that little button or leave a comment, thank you!

Crowley had swiftly tired and after a brief discussion had taken Aziraphale back to his own flat, leaving him with some ‘books’ while he retreated to his bed. He had, of course, first tried to give Aziraphale a bed, but upon hearing that angels did not sleep he had frowned, nodded in acceptance and set the blonde up on the sofa.

Aziraphale lifted one of the books and opened it. Crowley had warned that he may not find the book particularly useful but it might be interesting. The book was one with recipes, instructions on making food, but it had a lot more than that. It included lots of little stories about the food, about the family the recipe came from and about its history and cultural significance. It was a beautiful thing, with solid covers, and shiny pages that felt oddly heavy between his fingers, but its real beauty was in what was on the pages. Aziraphale sank into a world of words and images, the family stories on the pages conjuring up places and times recent and long gone in a way he had never before known to be possible.

He reached the end of the book with a shock and a feeling that was almost akin to pain. It had been an amazing sensation, to be taken into someone else’s world like that, and he felt a hunger to experience it again. He almost grabbed the next volume, but slowed his hands to lift it with care. He opened it, adjusting it in his grip to cradle it gently, and began to read. It was different, certainly not as enjoyable as the stories from the first book, but still somehow fascinating, the text drawing him in. It was called ‘The Rule of Law’, and Aziraphale found it oddly fascinating to gain an understanding of exactly what the phrase meant in modern day practice. When he looked inside the front cover someone with rather elegant handwriting had dedicated it to Crowley. It was less of a shock to reach the end of that book, somehow not quite as jarring to come back to just sitting in Crowley’s living room. Maybe that was because it just hadn’t taken him as far away as ‘Monday Morning Cooking Club’ had.

The third book was another slim volume, rather beaten up and dogeared but it felt...loved. The creased front cover had the picture of a skull being held in a man’s hand. When he started reading...it was so different to even the little stories. With the instructions on where people were to walk and how they were to say their lines, it was as though he could actually see it as it happened. Characters stalked around, proclaimed lines, fought, died. It was...indescribable. When Aziraphale reached the end, he immediately flipped back to the beginning and started reading again.

By the time Crowley got up, Aziraphale had read Hamlet three times, and was looking rather wild and wooly from running his fingers through his hair over and over. The inch-long fluff was virtually standing on end from its ill-treatment.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale beamed as Crowley stumbled into the living room. “This is amazing, it’s as though they were right here with me! I can’t even…” Crowley stood, feeling a soft, sleepy smile stretching his features as Aziraphale babbled about the books and what it had been like to read them. When he didn’t seem inclined to wind down anytime soon, Crowley gently took his elbow and led him into the kitchen, listening and making occasional noises. He put the kettle on and prepared two cups of tea, then guided the angel to the table and sat him down, setting the tea in front of him.

Aziraphale finally seemed to come back to himself, jerking slightly as he took in his change in surroundings. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry, I have been blathering on, haven’t I?”

“Quite alright, angel, I’ve been enjoying listening to you,” Crowley sat and picked up his own cup of tea. “Now, I’ve got to be heading to work, fortunately it is Friday, but what are we going to do with you today?”

“Well, I suppose I should be heading back to the house I’m using,” Aziraphale offered. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Crowley was already talking.

“Nope, nuh-uh, not letting you be alone, anything could happen to you! You could get hurt!”

“You do realise, my dear, that I am supposed to be the one taking care of you?”

“In that case, you should really stay here. Make sure I don’t get into any trouble, yeah?” Crowley grinned at him. “Not to worry, I may not have very many books in the house, but what I do have is a TV hooked up to wifi and a Netflix account.”

Aziraphale blinked, trying to parse that sentence into something with meaning, but he couldn’t. Other than that Crowley didn’t have more books for him to read, which was a definite pity as that had been an incredibly enjoyable pastime. He had always liked getting his hands on the scrolls at the scriptorium when he could, but they were so dry, just accountings of a blessing or a smiting without any information on the reasons or the people involved. It was interesting to know that a woman had been blessed to have a child well past her childbearing years, but not knowing who she or her husband were or anything else about their family did leave it feeling rather...empty.

He shook his head, trying to clear his musings away, and focused on Crowley once more. “My dear, I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about,” he admitted after a moment, revelling in the fact that he could just...say that. The barriers between them had been dissolved by his own honesty, and it was wonderful.

“Ah, sorry, no, you don’t. A TV is a way of...watching stories be played out by professional actors. Netflix is a collection of those stories that I can access through my TV. There are true stories and pretend ones, just like Hamlet was pretend but the stories in the recipe book were true. I’ll show you how to use it before I leave. And I’ll write you a list of things that you should watch so you don’t end up falling down the rabbit hole and watching something that will give you totally the wrong ideas.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley moved through his morning routine, preparing food which he then shared with Aziraphale. Having watched him prepare it and knowing that he did so because he wanted Aziraphale to enjoy it made it taste even better. Going into the room with the amenities (which he told Aziraphale was called a bathroom if it had something for whole body washing or a loo if it only had a sink and a ‘toilet’) he came out with wet hair and changed clothes. Finally, he led Aziraphale into the lounge room once more and showed him a large, flat black panel attached to one wall.

“This is the TV. This is the remote,” Crowley handed Aziraphale a small black plastic object, and then proceeded to guide him through how to use it to control the TV. When the screen flickered to life, Aziraphale flinched backwards, eyes wide, then leaned forward to watch the screen as Crowley guided him through using the remote.

“Okay, so you want to press this button to open the menu, and then select, yep, you’ve got it,” Crowley grinned and waited to see how Aziraphale handled the remote. Aziraphale carefully surveyed the buttons under his fingers, then glanced at the screen as he pressed one. The options on the screen shifted and he grinned, then pressed another, quickly growing accustomed to the method for navigating the technology. Crowley’s smile grew as he watched Aziraphale’s fingers manipulate the remote. His angel was having no problems with this whatsoever.

“So, I thought you could start by watching ‘The Good Place’,” he told him. “It’s a good story and I think you’d enjoy it, but it also has a decent amount of information.” He left out that it was also free of things like jump-scares, which he didn’t think someone who had only just been introduced to the concept of cinema would enjoy. “I’ve written you a list of other things you could watch after. I’ll be back by 5:30 unless something comes up, and I’ll ring you if it does. There’s some food in the fridge, and plenty of tea and biscuits in the pantry, please help yourself.” He glanced around, trying to think if he had forgotten anything, but nothing sprang to mind. “Make yourself at home, I’ve got to run or I’m going to be late and I don’t fancy dealing with that today.” With a smile that made Aziraphale’s heart feel like it was swelling inside his chest, Crowley let himself out the door.

~~~@@@~~~

TV was alright, Aziraphale thought. He was pretty sure reading was better, though. Reading allowed for so much more detail to be truly absorbed, for the reader to put their own take onto a character, for so many things that were just taken over by the visual medium of a movie. ‘The Good Place’ had been fun, and it was interesting to watch the characters interact, but it did make him sad when he thought about the reality of the filing cabinet in Heaven. He wasn’t sure he wanted Crowley to know about the filing cabinet. He’d grown bored with it after a while, though, and surveyed the list that Crowley had left for him.

\- Tiger King - this is a true story, it’s quite complicated but interesting.  
\- Broadchurch - murder mystery story, not real but very intreguing  
\- Great British Bake-off - people making food either very well or very bady,  
\- Star Trek - The Original Series - watch the oldest one, angel, trust me!

Aziraphale really wasn’t sure where to start, but he decided the top of the list would probably do. However, the sheer hatred that rolled off the screen when he started watching soon had him forcefully punching buttons, trying to make it stop. They all hated each other so much, it was awful. And the animals were just so sad. The cages had been horrible, tiny and nothing like what such majestic creatures needed. It made him want to weep.

With far less certainty regarding Crowley’s choices, he looked up the next suggestion. It was interesting, and sad, but the detective leading the investigation made him do a double take. Surely Crowley would have mentioned if he was in this? That man, though, was his spitting image! Aziraphale froze the screen on a closer up shot and studied it carefully. It was so close, but this man looked older than Crowley, more worn somehow. Still, the likeness was remarkable, so much so that Aziraphale found it impossible to focus on the program. What he had seen had allowed him to learn a bit more about life, as it was obviously set somewhere that was meant to be real.

Switching over again, Aziraphale found himself captivated. Watching people make food was captivating, but the fact that things kept going wrong was rather frustrating. He enjoyed watching it for a while, but he found his lack of understanding about how the combinations could form food to be rather frustrating, and not always being able to understand why things went wrong was irritating. Oh, they explained sometimes, but not all the time. He finally decided that this was something he would enjoy watching when he understood more about cooking and switched it over.

He looked for Star Trek with some trepidation. This had been Crowley’s last suggestion, and he was quite sure now that not all of their tastes aligned. Tiger King had been horrifying, but maybe there was something that made it more interesting for a human? He settled in to watch the first episode of Star Trek, uncertain about what he was going to find. Six episodes later, he jumped when the door to the flat opened and Crowley entered. Fumbling for the remote he stopped the television and stood to greet the human.

Crowley looked tired. There were deep lines on his face that hadn’t been there that morning, and having spent a day studying human expressions in different contexts on TV Aziraphale now had a much better grasp on the meaning of various facial arrangements. Something was wrong.

“Crowley? Are you alright?” Aziraphale watched as the lawyer dropped his keys on the table, removed his coat and hung it on the rack then stretched slowly. When he turned back, he still looked tired but he looked a lot happier than he had on coming through the door.

“Hi, Aziraphale,” he smiled, but it was a pale imitation of his usual expression. He seemed worn down somehow, and Aziraphale felt himself go on alert. This was wrong, this was not how his Crowley was supposed to look.

“What happened?” Aziraphale stepped towards him, and Crowley looked over at him, then shrugged.

“Ehhh, it’s just work, angel. It’s not fun. Sometimes it’s at least satisfying. Today was just...a lot. The clients I’ve been given are all...frankly, they’re all really horrible, and I’d think that everyone forgot how I did the entire firm’s pro-bonos except they keep referencing it as a reason why I need to take these paying clients NOW. I just...these are some really awful people. I’m too junior to have a say in my clients, beyond taking all of the pro bono work I can get away with.” He shook his head, dismissing the topic. “Anyway. Thought we could do a few things this evening, since it’s Friday. Late night shopping. Thought we could go to the library, get you some books, wander around a bit, and I want to pick you up a phone so you can access the internet.”

“Crowley, really, the library would be lovely, but a phone? That’s entirely unnecessary, I have a phone at the house, why would I need one of those ridiculous ‘smartphone’ devices?”

“Angel, when it comes to accessing information in this day and age, you cannot beat the internet. Libraries and books might be pretty great, but the internet is far too useful a tool for you to ignore, trust me.”

“Oh, I do, my dear, if you really feel that it is truly necessary,” Aziraphale capitulated. Crowley smiled, then stretched and glanced down at his outfit.

“Ugh, I smell like douchebag clients, I’m gonna change. Did you want to have a shower or anything before we head out?”

“A shower?” Aziraphale ran the word through what he had learned, and remembered the water-rain-box in the bathroom. “Oh...umm….no, thank you. Not right now, anyway, unless you’re trying to tell me I need something?” He looked down at himself, not noticing anything particularly wrong.

“Oh, no, Aziraphale, nothing like that!” Crowley looked deeply horrified that he had implied that Aziraphale smelled. “No, I just thought it might feel good to freshen up? And maybe we can look into getting you another outfit or two, people tend to look at you oddly if you wear the same clothing day in-day out here on Earth.”

“Oh, pish, who cares what they think? Unless...do you find it odd? I mean, these are alright, not hugely comfortable, nothing like the lovely robes I had back in Eden. These are...alright,” Aziraphale glanced down at the outfit the Heavenly Quartermaster had already had the corporation wearing when he arrived. It was cream, a suit jacket cut close, with a shirt and a sleeveless close-fitting garment he wasn’t sure of the name of. Then there were the pants and the previously ill-fitting shoes. All of it seemed perfectly serviceable to Aziraphale, even if he would have preferred something a little less constricting around the middle.

“Well, my tailor was kind enough to give us an appointment this evening, I spend enough there that when I said I had a new customer for them they were very willing to stay open late. Anyway, just give me a minute to go change and we’ll head out.” Crowley smiled, the expression so much more relaxed and open than it had been when he walked in the door, and Aziraphale felt a thrill of satisfaction. He had done that, he had made that happen. As Crowley headed for his room, Aziraphale stopped to consider what he’d said about his job. Was this where he was meant to be helping guide Crowley? It was the first sign of something that was really damaging his human, and he sat down to think about it until Crowley emerged.

He came out, dressed in a pair of very close fitting black pants and a loose, drapey top that gave a glimpse of his pronounced collarbones. He looked exceedingly comfortable, and Aziraphale was rather jealous of just how at home in his skin he seemed.

“Shall we go?” Crowley gestured towards the door, and Aziraphale smiled softly and led the way out of the flat. The lift (it was so nice to have words for things, it made life feel so much more in control) came swiftly to their summons and they were soon out on the street. Crowley’s beautiful car was waiting at the kerb, and Aziraphale took a moment to stop and really appreciate the machine. It was very different from the other cars he had seen around London, and he was suddenly gripped by a curiosity that he knew could be sated by simply asking the right questions.

“So, your car...tell me about it?” Crowley lit up, the last of the work-day fatigue sliding away and leaving him energised.

“She’s a Bentley, that’s the brand, from the year 1926, so she’s coming up on her hundredth birthday, believe it or not. My grandfather bought her new, and my father inherited her from him. He left her to me. She’s a great car, but...she is getting more problems the older she gets.” He smiled sadly and gently patted the gleaming bonnet. “One of these days I may just have to retire her from everyday use, but honestly living in London I can walk pretty much anywhere I need to and there are always the buses, so I keep her going with the help of a very able mechanic.” Aziraphale felt the absolute love Crowley had for the car, for the memories that had been created in it, for every single piece of it.

Crowley pulled himself out of his reverie after a moment, quite disappointing the basking angel, and opened the door. Aziraphale slipped into the car, the fainter feelings of love that clung to it making it a very pleasant place to spend time. Crowley slid into the driver’s seat, and Aziraphale really looked at him for a moment.

“My dear, I have a question to ask, and if I’m wrong, please just let me know but...how would you prefer to be addressed right now?”

Crowley went stiff for a long moment, then he turned in the seat to look at Aziraphale. “You...how?” The expression on his face was so vulnerable and Aziraphale felt like his heart was breaking.

“It’s...an energy thing, in a way?” Aziraphale struggled to put the feeling he was getting into words. “Right now, you’re just not putting out the same energy as you were when you were definitely male, so I’m asking.”

There were tears in Crowley’s eyes, and he ducked his head, trying to keep them from falling. “Right now, it’s more they/them, bordering on she/her,” they admitted after a long moment. “You really don’t have a problem with this?”

“Not at all, my dear, why on Earth would I?” asked Aziraphale, confused.

“Well, the church certainly does,” Crowley told him, shrugging. “I didn’t imagine that you would be...alright with it. Hell, most humans really aren’t alright with it.”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised, then a deep sadness seeped into him. He knew that there was a lot of hate on earth, but this was just so sad. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

“Hell, angel, it’s so much better than it used to be. Amazing people have accomplished a lot, within my lifetime things have changed a lot. Anyway. I’ll get you some books and good websites to look at, to help you understand. We need to get going or we’re going to be too late for things.” So saying, they started the car and pulled out, weaving through traffic towards their first destination.

Walking between the columns and up the steps of the beautiful building, Aziraphale felt a ramping excitement. A library. What would it be like? He’d heard about the one in Alexandria, all heaven had heard when it was burnt down, and he’d felt a deep sadness despite never having seen it. Having now actually experienced reading a book, the idea that there were so many books behind these doors was just...incredible.

Crowley smiled broadly at the obvious nerves on Aziraphale’s face, and reached out to open the door for him. The smell of paper and ink blew out to meet them, and Aziraphale walked forward, eyes wide, taking in the shelves upon shelves of volumes.

“Where...where do we start?” he asked Crowley, utterly overwhelmed. Even knowing that there would be a great many books, he hadn’t expected this. They were everywhere. “There are so many, how do you know…” he trailed off, uncertain.

“Well, you liked Shakespeare, I thought we might get a few of those, maybe a few other classics and some reference books as well,” seeing how Aziraphale was feeling, Crowley quickly stepped in to take control, for now. “As for how you know where to start, each section is labeled, see? So we can find what we’re looking for. And then there’s the system for putting them in order,” they pulled down a volume at random and showed Aziraphale the spine. “See, this tells us it’s a fiction book, a romance, and the author’s surname starts with these four letters. So if you just want any romance, you can start in that section, or if you know of a particular author you like, you can find them by knowing what type of stories they write then looking up their surname. Now, we’re going to start over here in classics, and we’re going to look for Shakespeare.”

They gestured towards the section of shelves, and now that Aziraphale understood the system he stepped forward with more confidence. Running his eye along the shelves, he traced the alphabetical order of the books and quickly located Shakespeare. He was quickly overwhelmed once more when he saw how many books there were, before he noted several much thicker ones. Pulling one down, he saw that it combined many of the plays, and he quickly took down the rest. There were five volumes, obviously made to be a set, and he stacked them in his arms. Turning back to Crowley, he found them looking at him with wide eyes.

“Are you...sure you want that many, Angel? That’s a lot of reading.”

“I’m sure, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled. “Now, you mentioned reference books? I believe I would like to look at those now.” He followed Crowley through the library, and ended up with several volumes on world history and the evolution of technology and science. He also ended up with several Jane Austen novels and the complete Sherlock Holmes mysteries, since Crowley insisted those were must reads. As Aziraphale became more at ease in the library, which happened shockingly fast as far as Crowley was concerned, he began to see that he might have made a mistake. The angel was wandering the stacks now, having acquired a basket from somewhere to bear his choices, and was clearly in no hurry to leave the library, now taking to pulling down books at random, perusing them and either adding them to his swiftly growing collection or returning them to their place on the shelf.

“Ummm, Aziraphale? You know, you can come back here anytime it’s open, right? And we do kind of need to keep moving tonight?” Crowley attempted to gently disengage the angel from the books, but he was fixated. Crowley sighed, and let it go. The library would be closing relatively soon, which was why they’d had to come there first. Crowley settled in to wait out the announcement that the library was, indeed, closing for the evening.

When the loudspeaker system crackled, Aziraphale almost jumped out of his skin, it startled him so much. His head jerked from side to side as he tried to determine who was speaking to him, and Crowley felt an odd pity throb in his chest. The angel did not deserve all the uncertainty and fear that his introduction (or lack thereof) of life on earth had created for him. Sure, he clearly adapted swiftly, but that was no excuse to leave someone totally unprepared for what they would face. It was culture shock to the enth degree, as far as Crowley was concerned, and it stoked the rage they were already harbouring towards the Archangels. For now, though, they stepped forward and placed a calming hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, angel, it’s just an announcement. The library is about to close, so we have to go and check these books out now so the workers can go home for the evening.” Aziraphale’s slightly panicked expression relaxed at that explanation and he smiled at Crowley, allowing himself to be tugged towards the checkout desk.

The librarians stared at the number of books that were unloaded onto the counter from the basket, which Crowley was just now starting to realise Aziraphale must have done something to as it had clearly held more than was physically possible. He offered his library card, smiling charmingly at the librarian.

“Next time we’ll get you a card of your own, angel,” he told Aziraphale quietly. “They really don’t like to have to fiddle around with them at the end of the day, but if you come back with ID you can get your own easily enough.” Aziraphale nodded, watching the librarian as she scanned Crowley’s library card and returned it before she started scanning books. Crowley watched the stacks grow, and began to worry. They weren't sure how they were going to carry those back to the car, really. Aziraphale, however, had no such concerns and simply began to stack the books in his arms. Somehow the stack never grew too large, despite the pile on the counter rapidly decreasing, and eventually the angel was somehow holding at least thirty medium to large books in his arms, the librarian was looking rather pale and glancing between them with definite fear in her eyes. Crowley decided that they should go.

“Come on, Aziraphale, let’s keep moving, we’ve got places to be,” he gently chivied the angel out of the library and back to the Bentley. As soon as Aziraphale set the books down on the Bentley’s back seat, they suddenly filled almost the entire space, and Crowley gulped. The casual way that the angel had just manipulated the laws of physics was astounding.

Aziraphale watched him from the passenger seat with a slight smile on his face and with a heavy feeling akin to dread in their chest Crowley realised the angel was amused. He had known exactly what he was doing when he took the books and it had amused him.

Crowley suppressed the urge to laugh, but did give the angel an amused smirk as they made their way around the car.

“That was mean, Aziraphale,” they scolded lightly, and the angel did laugh, shocking them.

“Maybe a bit,” he admitted after a moment. “Sorry, Crowley. I didn’t mean to make trouble, I didn’t really think about it until I saw that woman’s face as I unpacked the books. And I had heard her being so rude to a woman earlier, I just...couldn’t resist.”

“She was being rude to someone?” Crowley thought back. They vaguely remembered some upset voices while Aziraphale was perusing the shelves, but they hadn’t tuned into them to find out what they were saying.

“Telling her that the way she dressed she was asking for something...it sounded awful really...to happen to her.” Aziraphale shuddered, shaking his head. “Anyway, I felt that if I could give her a bit of a start, she probably deserved it.”

“Definitely, Angel,” Crowley felt their teeth grinding and deliberately relaxed their jaw. They did not need to give themselves a headache right now.

Aziraphale beamed at him, then looked out the window. “So, my dear, where are we going now?” he enquired as he watched London slide by behind the thin pane of glass.

“We’re going to go and get you a phone,” Crowley declared. “A good one. With a good plan.”

Aziraphale still wasn’t sure about the whole ‘phone’ thing. He hadn’t been told how he was going to be required to account for his expenses, but explaining why he paid for such a thing was worrying him. Also how he was going to explain purchasing new clothing, although he could at least explain that by talking about needing to fit in. If people really did notice if you wore the same clothes every single day and it was going to make him stick out to do so, well...he didn’t want to draw that kind of attention to himself (regardless of what his little display in the library might hint to the contrary).

Still, he allowed Crowley to guide them through traffic, park the car, and tug him into what felt like a much less welcoming environment than that of the library. If that was warmth and peace, this was cold and life lived at a frenetic pace. Aziraphale stuffed his hands in his pockets, not really sure he wanted to become a part of that particular world, but the promise of being in contact with Crowley at all times was alluring.

The word ‘Samsung’ over the door didn’t really mean anything to Aziraphale, and the plethora of shiny screens all looked the same to him. Crowley tugged him across the store to a particular table, however, obviously having something in mind. They picked up a phone from a little plastic stand and handed it to Aziraphale. “How does that feel in your hand?” they asked.

Aziraphale side eyed them then took the question seriously, holding the phone and considering. “It’s big, but I can handle it?” he offered after a moment, unsure exactly what he was supposed to be feeling there. Crowley huffed, took the phone away and handed him a second. This one definitely fit his hand better, although it didn’t seem much smaller than the first one. This one is better to hold.”

“Great.” That seemed to be all there was to it. “Well, it’s got 64 gig memory, which should be enough for now at least. It has a good operating system, and it’s quite hardy, although we will still want to get a case for it. Let’s get this thing done.” Crowley glanced around and flagged down a young man in a t-shirt and began to speak very quickly and about things that Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure he understood, so he decided just to step back and watch.

Soon enough, the young man had piled several boxes on the table, and Crowley was signing things while Aziraphale watched and slowly realised that Crowley was, for some reason, paying for this for him.

“Crowley! You don’t need to pay for it,” he hissed, trying to stop him, but Crowley just shot him a look.

“Let me take care of it, for now at least, okay? I’m putting you on my phone plan, so we won’t have to worry about multiple bills. You can pay me back for it, if you want.” Crowley turned back to the paperwork and quickly finished it, accepted the bag of little boxes from the young man, and handed it to Aziraphale. “This is yours. I’ll show you how to use it all later.” They smiled into the angel’s eyes, and Aziraphale felt his stomach flutter and his cheeks heat again. “Now, if we’re going to get to the tailor’s on time, we need to go now,” Crowley gestured towards the door, but Aziraphale waited and offered his arm. With wide eyes but a small, pleased smile, Crowley took it, and they walked together back out to the Bentley.

When they arrived at the tailor’s, Aziraphale took in the diminutive storefront with interest. He’d certainly learned not to judge places by their shopfronts in the last few days, and he was honestly curious to see what was hiding behind this one.

They entered a shop with an oddly eclectic selection of objects, as far as Aziraphale could tell. There were enormous rolls of fabric, suits on fake bodies with chalk marks drawn on them in incomprehensible lines, an entire wall of shoes, racks of ties and a whole lot of mirrors. Aziraphale stared around, wide eyed.

“Mr Crowley!” The older man who came charging out of the back of the shop to pump Crowley’s hand was beaming. “This must be the friend you mentioned? “

“This is Mr Aziraphale Fell, Aziraphale, this is Mr Jackson, tailor extraordinaire.” Crowley used the name he’d had Aziraphale read off what was apparently a driver’s license (upon realising that Heaven had created a driver’s license for him, Crowley had immediately extracted a promise from Aziraphale that he absolutely would not attempt to drive.) Aziraphale had felt it like a punch to the gut when he saw that name on the little card. Why would Heaven have used the word ‘Fell’ as a name for an angel?

“Mr Fell! A pleasure!” Aziraphale’s hand was seized and pumped with just as much vigour as Crowley’s had been. “So, you want some new suits?”

“Ummm, yes, I think so,” Aziraphale said, quietly.

“Well, let us start by taking some measurements. If sir will step through to the backroom,” the little man indicated the way, and with a nervous glance at Crowley, Aziraphale followed. Something in that expression made Crowley follow, and he watched as Aziraphale removed his jacket and waistcoat, then stood on the little stage in front of the mirrors, surveying himself. He ran his hand down his slim sides as the tailor puttered around the room, collecting various objects and moving things around in search of something.

“Apologies, I seem to have somehow misplaced every single one of my tape measures. The joys of having apprentices, I think. Bear with me, I will return in just a moment.”

With the tailor out of the room, Crowley watched Aziraphale study himself in the mirror. “So, is that what you really look like?”

“Well, noooo, I mean...it’s complicated…” Aziraphale tried to think about how to explain it. “It’s like...this body doesn’t feel separate from me, but it is very much not the form I have in heaven.”

“So, it’s like...no, that doesn’t work...I wanted to say it’s like a suit? For your angel energy? But that doesn’t sound exactly right either.”

“Look, I don’t think there’s going to be a perfect analogy here,” Aziraphale shrugged. “So that works, yes.” He looked back at the mirror, a slight frown hovering around the corners of his mouth.

"Well, are you able to alter it for yourself? Only watching you stand there, you don't look completely comfortable in your skin. Are you able to change it?"

The idea took Aziraphale completely by surprise, and he ended up just gaping at Crowley for several long moments. He turned to survey the mirror once again, this time with consideration in his eye. With a bursting of buttons, Aziraphale's gut expanded. It wasn't a huge shift, just enough to create a truly delightful little paunch, but the clothing had been so closely tailored before he changed there had been no room for improvement. Less sartorially damaging but no less visibly obvious was the sudden riot of curls that cascaded down the back of the angel’s neck and brushed his earlobes, flopping over his forehead and into his eyes. Aziraphale sighed with relief as the corporation felt truly right for the first time.

Crowley was clearly trying not to gape at the angel, attempting to contain his expression to a more sedate smile, but the wideness of his eyes and slight dropping of his chin gave him away.

"My dear, that is so much better, thank you so much," Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley gulped even as he grinned back. Silently he screamed at himself about biting off more than he could chew.

The tailor bustled back into the room and froze, staring at Aziraphale when he now stood, shirt and trouser buttons popped off and scattered around the room, now much more generously proportioned than he had been. The shoulders of the shirt he was wearing strained in ways they had not before, and the sleeves felt very uncomfortably constricting.

“Sir? Were you wearing a...compression garment of some kind?” the tailor eyed him closely. “No, it’s impossible, when I left the room that shirt fit you perfectly everywhere, and your hair was...and now...how...what…” Crowley looked as though he was about to say something when the tailor just shook his head and moved forward. “Perhaps sir would be more comfortable without the shirt on? Maybe the trousers as well, actually, they are clearly the wrong size and will make measuring up most inconvenient.” Only the visible trembling of his hands gave away that he was feeling anything other than relaxed and professional.

Aziraphale took the advice and struggled his way out of the shirt and pants, both of which had nearly burst their seams from the sudden expansion of their occupant. Crowley took the clothes and put them aside, leaving Aziraphale in a vest, socks and boxer shorts. The tailor got to work measuring more things than Aziraphale could believe were truly necessary for the creation of clothing, but he trusted that the professional knew exactly what was required to create such beautiful works of art as hung in his shop.

Finally, seeming rather steadier, the tailor stood. “Let’s consider fabrics,” he led the two of them over to a side table and picked up several books of fabric swatches. “Let’s start with jackets and trousers, I believe we want at least three different options?” the tailor glanced between them and Crowley nodded. The next half hour or more was lost in a discussion of fabric weight, fall, breathability, crease holding and so on. Finally, they had placed an order for four suits, all fairly similar but visibly different, as well as ten shirts and waistcoats and three extra pairs of shoes. Aziraphale felt that it was all rather too much, but he allowed Crowley to insist.

Once all the details were ironed out, Aziraphale turned to where the clothes he had been wearing were now folded across a poof. Picking the trousers up he gave them a firm shake before pulling them on. Fastening the fly buttons he then repeated the production with his shirt, and turned back to find the tailor staring, face pale, and Crowley looking as though they were about to completely lose it. Their shoulders were shaking where they sat, and they quickly stood and passed Aziraphale his waistcoat and jacket, both of which once more fitted perfectly, and accompanied him out to the Bentley, bidding the very confused (and rather terrified) tailor a polite goodbye.

Once they were in the car, Crowley collapsed against the steering wheel, wheezing. “Aziraphale! That was cruel! Were you trying to give the poor man a heart attack?”

“My dear, I’m quite sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” Aziraphale attempted to look innocent, but quickly gave up and laughed along with Crowley. “Oh, alright, I might have been having a little fun at his expense, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Aziraphale looked a little embarrassed, and Crowley waved a hand. “It’s fine, angel, don’t worry about it, he’ll be fine.” They glanced around, thinking. “That’s the end of our planned outings for the evening, would you care to take a wander? Or has it been enough? We can just go home and get some dinner?” Crowley paused for a minute, frowning in thought. “Wait, have you eaten since breakfast?” Aziraphale blinked, surprised at the question, then remembered that humans ate multiple times every day.

“Ummm, well, no, but Crowley...before you spend more money on me, I want you to understand - I don’t need to eat, at all,” he admitted it in a rush, not looking at Crowley, not wanting to see their expression.

Crowley, having not started the car yet, twisted in his seat and reached out, taking Aziraphale’s hand and giving it a little squeeze and tug. “Aziraphale, do you like to eat?” they asked, ducking their head slightly to look the angel directly in the eye.

“Umm, well...yes, I do,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Well, then. There you go. Eat. On a human schedule or not, that’s up to you, but I’m going to feed you dinner tonight, at least, and I think I might just take you out for brunch tomorrow. Enjoying things is enough reason to do them, Aziraphale. Really, it is.” They looked so sincere that Aziraphale could only agree, smiling softly as he accepted Crowley’s statement.

“I think,” he said after a long moment, “that I would very much like to go home, my dear. It has been a wonderful evening, but it has been...a lot. If you don’t mind, I think a quiet evening in would be just the ticket.”

Crowley beamed and pulled the Bentley out into traffic, wondering if Aziraphale realised what he had just said. They didn’t know if he did or not, but it warmed Crowley deeply to hear Aziraphale say the word ‘home’ and mean his apartment.


	4. You who soldiered on through the profane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been very fun. It's a bit more on the serious side, we hope you will enjoy it. Thank you to everyone who is reading this, please do consider giving that kudos button a bump, and leaving a comment, they mean a lot! The chapter title comes, as always, from Guardian by Alanis Morisette.

Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching Crolwey fiddle with the mobile phone. He had had Aziraphale open the boxes himself, watching with an oddly indulgent smile as the angel slid the sleek device out, and Aziraphale felt an odd thrill of excitement in opening it even though he knew what was inside. 

When Crowley handed the phone back it was wrapped in a plastic case to protect it from damage and had a thin piece of glass stuck over its screen. 

“So...they make them so fragile that they have to then stick extra glass and plastic onto them to protect them from breaking?” Aziraphale asked, tapping a fingernail lightly on the glass, then tapping it with the pad of his finger and flinching back as the screen lit up, displaying a colourful swirl of light before blinking out again. 

“Ngk, yeah, that’s about the gist of it,” Crowley agreed, not wanting to get into the topic of fragility driven consumerism right now. “So, to open it,” he began demonstrating the use of the phone to Aziraphale, who picked it up as quickly as he had everything else Crowley had shown him. It really was incredible to watch the angel try something new. Once Crowley had started to show Aziraphale how to use the phone to make a call, send a message and how to access the internet to search for information the angel had just taken over, quickly mastering the small piece of tech. Crowley watched with a warm feeling of pride in Aziraphale’s accomplishments as he bent the phone to his will. He did have to issue several warnings about information found online, and Aziraphale grew rapidly more wary of the internet. Once Crowley introduced him to websites like Politifact and Snopes, he was more willing to experiment with it. 

The phone was set aside as soon as the food arrived. Crowley had taken care to order a different cuisine. After the success with both Indian and Italian, he was determined to expose Aziraphale to as many different foodstuffs as possible. Tonight would be Japanese, and he was very excited to see what Aziraphale made of it. He was sure, at some point, they would run into something the angel did not like to eat, but it hadn’t happened yet. 

Crowley carefully unpacked the small packets of sushi, laying them out artistically on the table under Aziraphale’s watchful gaze, then he carefully opened the bento of fried chicken and edamame. Aziraphale watched it all with interest. Crowley prepared tea, carefully whisking it in the pot and Aziraphale was truly fascinated by the ritual of it all. When Crowley held up the chopsticks, Aziraphale watched how he manipulated them carefully, then attempted it himself. 

It took a little fumbling, and Crowley thought it was probably the longest he’d seen Aziraphale take to master a skill, but soon enough he was able to hold the lower chopstick steady and manipulate the upper one to meet with it. Once Aziraphale was comfortable holding the chopsticks, Crowley explained the sushi and had Aziraphale try a piece. 

“Now, this green paste here you want to watch out for. It’s called wasabi, and it’s very very hot. You want to take just a little of it and mix it in your soy, then dip the sushi in the soy. The soy is salty, and with the heat from the wasabi it increases the flavour of the sushi. Here, try some.” 

Aziraphale delicately lifted a delicate piece of salmon and rice held together by a mere ribbon of seaweed, and dipped one end of it in the mix before raising it to his lips and placing the morsel on his tongue. Crowley had to swallow hard at the groan that Aziraphale made as the sushi melted on his tongue. Once the piece was gone he beamed at Crowley. “My dear, that is truly delightful. Now, enough lessons, you need to eat too. You can tell me things as we go, but you’re the one who actually needs sustenance out of the two of us.” 

They sat on opposite sides of the table and took it in turns to eat a piece of the same type of sushi. Crowley had ordered two pieces of almost the entire sushi menu, wanting Aziraphale to experience the whole range. More and more he wanted to give Aziraphale new and different experiences, just from the pleasure he got in watching the angel enjoy them. To see him eat something, anything, was a delight almost beyond imagining. 

Aziraphale was in love. The delicate flavours of the fish paired with the sharpness of the rice and the crispness of the vegetables all enhanced by the saltiness of the soy and the burn of the wasabi was beyond anything he had eaten so far. This was the most amazing thing he had ever put in his mouth, and he included the pear from Eden in that. He wasn’t sure how to put what he was feeling into words, but it was an amazing experience. 

“Crowley, this is...wonderful,” he struggled to say what he was feeling, but eventually gave up and shrugged. “It is just truly delicious, beyond anything and everything I’ve tried before now. I love it.” He beamed at Crowley, who smiled warmly back, eyes bright. 

When the sushi was finally done, Crowley showed Aziraphale the edamame. Before he could say anything, Aziraphale had popped an entire pod into his mouth at once and bitten down. He winced at the hairy sensation and quickly spat the mouthful out onto his plate. 

“Sorry, Angel, sorry, you don’t eat them that way. You use your teeth to pull the beans out of the shell, you see?” He quickly raised a bean to his lips and eased the first bean out and into his mouth. Aziraphale watched carefully then copied his motions. It was a far more pleasant experience than eating it in the husk, and the salty-sweetness of it was rather nice, but it didn’t hold a candle to the sushi. 

He left most of the edamame and the fried chicken to Crowley, finding the creamy sauce with the crispy chicken pleasant but nothing very exciting. 

When the meal was over they sat drinking tea and Crowley opened a small box of mochi, a final treat. He and Aziraphale ate them with their fingers. The texture was very different from anything Aziraphale had tried before and he struggled with the sticky sweetness for a moment, but he found the flavours pleasant and he happily ate his share. He thought he probably preferred tiramisu, though. 

After dinner Crowley went to bed, pleading exhaustion. Aziraphale went through to the lounge, having been instructed to use whichever of the facilities he wanted to. He ended up just sitting under a lamp, reading his books. He solved mysteries with Sherlock Holmes, and raged and rejoiced with Elizabeth Bennett. He read slowly, carefully, savouring each word like the precious thing it was. 

When the sun began peaking through the window, Aziraphale decided it was time for a new experience. He went into the bathroom and switched on the shower, feeling the water cascading out. It was hot, very hot. He turned the second tap, mixing in cold water until the water was delightfully warm but not at a temperature that would result in painful burns to his corporation. Stripping out of his clothes he miracled them clean and pressed before he placed them on a chair out of the way and stepped into the shower. 

The warmth of the water was a revelation and he quickly understood why humans enjoyed this so much. It was very pleasant indeed to have hot water pulsing down, massaging sore limbs. Aziraphale suddenly realised that his limbs were aching, throbbing almost, and his eyes felt swollen. He opened his mouth a little and it suddenly spread wide quite against his will. An odd high-pitched moaning noise came out of him and he snapped his mouth shut, mortified. What on earth was that? 

He got out of the shower and, with a flick of his fingers, was surrounded by a warm jet of air that dried him in moments. He almost stumbled as he crossed to the chair where his clothes were, and he swayed as he fumbled his clothes on. He was becoming quite concerned - was there something wrong with his corporation? Certainly he didn’t remember ever experiencing anything like this before. 

He stumbled back out into the living room and sank down into his chair. He picked up the book but couldn’t seem to focus on the words. His eyes kept closing, as though heavy weights had been placed on his eyelids. Finally he lost the struggle altogether, his eyes sliding closed and his limbs going limp. 

Aziraphale was in Heaven, amongst his platoon. He could feel their disdain towards him despite how he tried his best to fit in. They clearly always felt that he was different from them. He was never included in their few downtime activities. Every time he approached them they snubbed him, and he had given up long ago. He could still hear them whispering amongst themselves about how odd he was, even once he was promoted to platoon leader. Then it was just a different group of angels giving him the cold shoulder. 

Aziraphale was in Heaven, and the Archangels were gathered around him. He couldn’t feel anything from them, but their cool regard felt no less like being judged in spite of that. He shivered, trying to stop his rings from whirling faster, but he couldn’t calm them. They spun at a dizzying pace revealing his agitation, and now he didn’t need to be able to feel anything from the Archangels because he could clearly see the disdain in their faces. 

“This one? Are you sure this is the one we’re meant to send?” 

“Look at him. He can’t even control his own responses, how is he supposed to serve on Earth?” 

“He’s clearly as unacceptable now as he was in the garden. Why should he get another chance?” 

“He shouldn’t. Appoint someone else.” 

Aziraphale was in heaven, and there was blood on his blade. An angel, one of his brothers, lay before him. Tears streamed down Aziraphale’s cheeks as he stared at the body of the one he had once called his friend. So caught up in the moment was he that he didn’t notice the second angel sneaking up behind him until a blade was sliding through his outermost ring, through the thick muscle there. His ring buckled and he fell with a pained cry, unable to remain upright. 

He tried to crawl away, but he couldn’t move, his ring still pinned on his enemy’s blade. He cried out from the pain, cried for his brothers to save him, but no one came. With an effort he managed to turn his remaining rings, and struck at his attacker. His blow went wide, and the other angel grinned cruelly down at him. 

“Aziraphale!” Was that one of his brothers? Were they coming to help him? “Aziraphale, you need to wake up. Come on, Angel, wakey-wakey.” A hand - a human hand - settled on one of Aziraphale’s rings and shook him gently. 

Aziraphale shot up in the chair, almost cracking his head against Crowley’s, but he managed to duck backwards in time. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale glanced around wildly, but there were no signs of heaven being or having been there. “What…”

“Thought you said you don’t sleep, Angel,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, concerned. 

“That...that was sleep?” Aziraphale shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories of what he had seen. “All those things I saw…” 

“Dreams, Angel. Sometimes memories, or just silly stories, or things we’re worried about. It’s part of the brain resting.” He frowned in worry. “Didn’t sound like you were having very good ones, that’s why I woke you up.” 

“I wasn’t, thank you. Don’t think I’m going to do that again.” He concentrated on his corporation, fiddling with the settings in a manner not dissimilar to how he had adjusted his appearance. “Think I’ve got that. No more sleep.” 

“But if your body needs it…” 

“It doesn’t, really. My ethereal form does not rest and frankly I do not think I want to try again after what just happened. Besides, if I’m sleeping I can’t read books now can I?” He grinned with the last sentence and Crowley visibly relaxed. He really looked at Aziraphale then, and grinned. “Did you by any chance shower this morning?” 

“I did, how could you tell?” 

“You should see your hair, Angel. It’s...very bouncy now.” Aziraphale put his hand to his head and felt his hair, which seemed to be standing on end all around his head. He ran a hand through it and felt it relax back to what it had looked like the day before. “Well that’s convenient,” Crowley shook his head. “Nifty. Well,” his mouth stretched open and he covered it with his hand, a similar sound to what Aziraphale had made before coming from behind it. 

“What was that?” Aziraphale sat forward quickly. “I did that earlier, when I was in the shower, what is it?” 

“What, yawning? It’s something your body does when you’re tired. I think I read somewhere that it has to do with oxygen supply to the brain but don’t quote me on that. It just...happens when your body is ready to sleep.” 

“Ahhh,” Aziraphale nodded and filed the information away for later consideration. 

“How about some tea? It’s a bit earlier than I was planning to get up, so we’ve got plenty of time,” Crowley stood and extended a hand to Aziraphale. 

“Oh no, did I wake you?” Aziraphale suddenly realised he had probably been making noise while asleep and that that was most likely what had disturbed Crowley’s rest. Crowley waved the concern away and tugged Aziraphale out of his chair and into the kitchen, where he quickly made a pot of tea and laid out the tea set on the table. 

They talked about nothing in particular as they sat and sipped but Aziraphale sensed that Crowley was working to distract him from his nightmares, to help him distance himself from them. He appreciated the effort and he really did try not to think about it. Parts of them had been real and parts of them he thought were real but he had no absolute evidence for. There was nothing in them that he could point to and say it was definitely false, and that made them much harder to dismiss. The expressions on the Archangels’ faces had not been as dismissive and disgusted as in his dream, but he could honestly say that he did not feel in any way supported by Heaven. 

He tried harder to distract himself from the dream and the facts that it had brought to the surface of his mind, but every time he did so it seemed to bring them back louder. 

“Aziraphale?” He startled when Crowley laid a hand on top of his, jumping. 

“Sorry, my dear, just...thinking. What were you saying?” 

Crowley smiled sadly and shook his head slightly. “Nothing important, really. Do you want to talk about it? It might help.” 

Aziraphale thought about it. Did he want to talk? He wasn’t sure, not at all sure. He shrugged one shoulder, and as nice as his hand felt under Crowley’s he pulled it away to weave his fingers together, washing his hands against each other anxiously. 

“I...I was in Heaven. First I was with my battalion, but...I was never really a part of the group. I...I served on Earth briefly at the beginning, I think I told you that. In the Garden. But I was deemed unworthy due to my excitement about Creation. I was ordered back to Heaven and given a place in the Host, but everyone knew that I’d been found wanting. Even after I was promoted to be in charge of my own Battalion, I was never truly accepted. Not by my men, not by the other commanders. Even when there was time to...fraternise, no one wanted to spend time with me.” He shrugged, and Crowley reached over and gently separated his hands where they were in danger of drawing blood, his fingernails were pressed so deeply into his flesh. He wrapped his hands gently but firmly around Azirapahle’s, preventing him from hurting himself. 

“Six thousand years an outsider,” Crowley said softly, his expression sad. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale. No one should have to live like that.” 

“The second part...it wasn’t completely real, I dreamed that the Archangels decided I was unworthy of coming to Earth, of being your Guardian. It wasn’t a nice feeling. I felt like...like they didn’t value me, like I wasn’t worth anything to them.” Crowley didn’t say anything, and carefully schooled his facial expression to give none of his feelings away. He was pretty sure that the Archangels didn’t care about Aziraphale at all, the way they had sent him to Earth with nothing at all. He didn’t want Aziraphale to know that he agreed with Aziraphale’s subconscious on this point. 

“The last part...I dreamt about the War in Heaven, before the Earth was even properly created, when Satan and his angels rebelled. Brothers fought brothers, and I was forced to kill my own siblings. It was...it was horrible.” A hand went to rub one thigh, which ached with the memory of the blow to his ring, although he couldn’t have said how exactly those two things were related. He just knew that the ache in his thigh was from the injury he had taken all those years ago. 

Crowley gave up any and all pretence of not wanting to be close to Aziraphale. He shifted his chair over beside Aziraphale’s and opened his arms. “Hug?” he offered. Aziraphale gave him a long look, brows furrowed.

“Hug?” he asked, but the tone was very different from Crowley’s. He clearly did not understand what Crowley was offering. 

“A hug, Angel, is where you wrap your arms around another person to show them you care about them, to express affection, to feel close. Would you like to try it?” 

Aziraphale thought for a long moment, then he opened his arms back and gave the tiniest nod ever. Crowley moved forward slowly, bringing his arms around Aziraphale until he held him in a firm grip. Aziraphale’s arms came up until they rested on Crowley’s back, and he seemed to collapse into the hug, grip tightening as he clung back. His shoulders hitched suddenly without his permission, his breath catching. He recognised what was happening - he was crying. But why was he crying? That didn’t make any sense. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop. He dragged in great breaths of air, but still his shoulders shook and his corporation resisted all attempts at control. 

The closeness was incredible. Crowley’s body was warm against his, his arms tight bands, but they didn’t feel as though they were trapping him. Rather he felt cared about in a way he could not put into words. 

Finally the tears slowed, then stopped, as Crowley rubbed Aziraphale’s back firmly. Finally the angel pulled back, smiling shakily into Crowley’s worried face. “I’m okay, Crowley, really. It’s fine.” 

Crowley shook his head slightly, trying to think of the best thing to say. “You know, it’s okay if everything isn’t fine, Aziraphale. Being friends means being there to help with people’s messy bits as well as the neat ones, it means caring about the whole person and not just parts of them. I care about you, Aziraphale, and I certainly consider you my friend. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.” 

Aziraphale blinked at the thought. They were...friends? He certainly cared about Crowley as more than a mere responsibility, he realised suddenly. Yes. Friends. They were friends. 

“I’ve haven’t...haven’t had a friend in a long time,” he admitted, his voice still shaky. “I think...I think I rather like it.” 

Crowley beamed at him, eyes warm. “Well, you’ve got me, now. I’m going to teach you everything you need to know about living here, and help you find the things that make you happy. Like your books. What did you read last night?” He asked the question as he sat back more fully on his chair and refreshed both of their cups of tea, settling back to listen. 

Aziraphale’s face lit up and he began recounting his reading of the night before. He chatted away freely and Crowley watched as the storm clouds blew away, leaving him much brighter and happier. They finished the pot, and Crowley refreshed it with boiling water. Crowley broke out the biscuits and sat, happily listening to Aziraphale go on about his reading. Every so often, he posed a question which led to Aziraphale talking more about what he had enjoyed, or thought, or who his favourite character had been. 

By the time they finished the teapot for the second time, Aziraphale was running out of things to say, and Crowley was hungry for something more than biscuits. A good meal certainly seemed to be the thing to cheer him up, and he knew just the place for a perfect Full English Brunch. Fortunately, he had made a booking already and he had made it a late morning one.

He settled Aziraphale on the couch watching a cartoon (Gummi Bears was a classic, fight him, and they were really feel-good too) and went to shower quickly. He emerged to find Aziraphale sitting on the edge of the couch, knuckle between his teeth, as he watched the build-up to the end of the first episode. Crowley sat down beside him to put on his shoes, bumping his shoulder companionably as he did so. “So, have they defeated the Duke and saved the castle yet, Angel?” 

“Well, no, not yet. Oh wait…” on the screen, Duke Igthorne clearly ran out of gummi berry juice and the boulder he was holding in the air squashed him flat. The catapult ran out of control and crashed into the castle, unsticking the drawbridge and crashing into the moat. Crowley passed Aziraphale his shoes as the last few minutes of the show played out and once it was over they were out the door. 

Crowley took the scenic route to the hotel where the restaurant was located, pointing out a number of landmarks on the way, a few museums, a couple of parks. He pulled up to the valet stand at the Andaz, and helped Aziraphale out of the car before handing the keys over to the valet, who whistled in admiration as he slid behind the wheel of the Bentley. 

“Not a scratch, now,” Crowley ordered and the kid nodded respectfully, running a gentle hand over the steering wheel. He pulled the car away carefully with Crowley watching for a moment to see how he handled it before leading Aziraphale inside and into Restaurant 1901. The maitre’d took them to their table and seated them. Aziraphale was quite overwhelmed by the whole experience. This was nothing like Nonna and Rosa’s cosy little restaurant. This was bright, light and opulent. If it had been any whiter it would have reminded Aziraphale of heaven, but there were enough accenting colours and the light was warm enough that he could avoid drawing those comparisons. 

Crowley showed Aziraphale up to the buffet, and they each filled a plate, alternating in who took some of any given thing as they fully intended to share both plates between them. They made their way back to the table, loaded plates and glasses of juice in hand. 

Crowley lifted a croissant from his plate and cut it open, slathering raspberry jam into the cavity then carefully tore it in half and passed half to Aziraphale. 

The angel smiled softly as he accepted the morsel, fingers brushing Crowley’s as he drew his hand back. The raspberry jam drew a delighted response, as Crowley had expected it would, and soon Aziraphale was deep into sampling everything available. When the waiter came around with the menus for their ala carte choice, Crowley ordered the waffles with berries while Aziraphale got the smashed avocado with smoked salmon. Crowley joked that he’d never afford to own a house of his own if he kept eating avocado all the time, and when Aziraphale just looked at him blankly he wanted to kick himself. 

“It’s something someone in the older generation said, blaming the younger generation for not being able to afford to buy houses, that if they didn’t waste all their money on smashed avocado that they wouldn’t have that problem.” 

“Was he right?” Aziraphale asked curiously. 

“No. Oh, I don’t doubt that there are some in the younger generation who just don’t care to save their money, however well-paying their job is. Mostly, though, no. There are a lot of reasons they can’t afford to own their own houses, mostly involving the fact that the older generation are working for longer and the work market has changed hugely in the last thirty years. It’s very unfair to blame them for all the problems they’re struggling with.”

Aziraphale listened, wide eyed, and nodded with agreement. They turned their attention once more to the sumptuous food and Crowley once more settled in to enjoy watching Aziraphale eat. With every meal the angel seemed to let himself go more in terms of his enjoyment and Crowley wasn’t sure whether he was enjoying it more or becoming less guarded in his reactions. 

The meal was long and leisurely, the pair chatting casually and Crowley enjoyed the fact that the clouds of that morning seemed to have completely cleared away. He imagined being able to choose never to sleep again, but he couldn’t do it. Crowley liked to sleep. Oh, he could do without it if he needed to, for a little while (he’d been a law student at university, of course he could pull an overnighter) but he liked it too much to choose not to do it if the option was available. 

By the time the meal was finished and the bill was paid, Crowley and Aziraphale were both more than full, Aziraphale groaning slightly and rubbing his stomach as he stood up from the table. 

“Ate too much?” Crowley asked, smiling softly, and Aziraphale blushed, ducking his head. Then he stiffened, and glanced around nervously. Crowley was already kicking himself even before he spoke. 

“I’m not supposed to eat at all, never mind overeating, Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed, the colour in his cheeks suddenly picking up. “If my superiors knew the gluttony I had engaged in since coming to Earth…” he seemed to shrink in on himself and Crowley wasn’t sure that he didn’t actually lose a few inches in girth. 

“It’s okay, Angel. They’re not going to find out anytime soon, and if they do just tell them you need to be able to fit in. They can’t exactly argue with that and besides did anyone give you any rules before you came down?” Crowley asked the question already knowing the answer but he grinned as Aziraphale suddenly straightened, chin coming up in a stubborn attitude that Crowley hadn’t really seen from him before but that he found he liked a lot. He visibly filled out once more with his clothes fitting his form more closely.

“No,” Aziraphale said. “No one told me any rules or anything else for that matter. Therefore, I am required to make my own rules and one of those is that I do, indeed, need to fit in with the humans.” 

“There you go then,” Crowley smiled proudly at his angel and led the way back out of the restaurant. “Nothing to worry about. Lawyer, remember? If there’s something I can do well it’s find my way around rules.” 

Aziraphale grinned, a hit of mischief around his eyes, and nodded. 

“Well, whatever shall we do with the rest of our day? How about a walk in the park? Ever fed a duck, Angel?” 

~~~@@@~~~

Aziraphale stared at the ducks in amazement. He had thought them fascinating when simply waddling or swimming around but the level of entertainment that was available when one tossed a little food their way was enormous. He chuckled as Crowley carefully aimed a pellet to land between two competing drakes and Crowley grinned toothily at him. Aziraphale took a pellet in his fingers and broke it up a little, scattering it amongst the ducklings that had found their way directly below him as though knowing that he would be the one to do this. Then again they could probably sense at least some of his angelic nature. 

Finally the bag of pellets was exhausted and they wandered through the park, Aziraphale exclaiming over the variety of imported flora and fauna that had found its way there. He was less enamoured of it once Crowley explained the history of conquest that had led to all of these things being brought here from their home countries but he was still delighted by the exquisite beauty of the Almighty’s creation. 

Finally the lovely weather of the day began to turn on them. Crowley had been keeping an eye out for it and turned them back towards the Bentley, but they still ended up having to run, shrieking with laughter, through a sudden downpour for the last fifty or so metres. 

“Ahhh! It’s...times like this...I regret the lack of a central locking system!” Crowley shouted over the sound of the rain pounding down on the car as he struggled to unlock the doors with water cascading over him, making his fingers slip on the keys and causing him to fumble with the lock. 

Finally he got it open and scrambled in on the driver’s side, leaning over to unlock Aziraphale’s door. The angel slipped into the car shutting the door behind himself then, with a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking at them, he clicked and drew his hand sharply downwards. Crowley found his clothes not only felt dry but freshly, perfectly laundered. 

“Now that’s quite the miracle,” he declared, sniffing at his collar. “Delightful. It even smells like my detergent, how did you manage to accomplish that?” 

“I reminded it of what it’s like when it’s dry and clean,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Or something like that. So, clearly the park is out for the rest of the day, as delightful as it was. Shall we head home or did you have something else in mind?” 

By the time they reached the apartment block the rain had slowed considerably, and they made it to the door without really getting wet. Aziraphale, on entering the lift, realised just how much he’d learned in the last few days as the contraption now seemed completely normal to him. They rode it up standing close enough to each other that their shoulders brushed and the small touch sent a swell of warmth through Aziraphale. This life was so different from the existence he had had in Heaven. He had true companionship for the first time in his entire existence and the fact that he had been denied it until now made it bitter sweet. 

They reentered the apartment, putting their freshly damp coats to dry on the coat rack that was sensibly positioned above a central heating duct, then Crowley tugged Aziraphale into the living room and onto the couch. 

“There’s a program I didn’t tell you to watch the other day,” he explained as he quickly manipulated the remote to bring the huge TV on the wall to life. “I didn’t tell you to watch it because it’s my favourite and I wanted us to watch it together.” 

Aziraphale straightened on hearing that they were going to watch Crowley’s favourite program. “What’s it called?” he enquired, curious. 

“Golden Girls. It’s an older program but I really enjoy it. It’s very funny. Ooh, here we go,” Crowley selected the program from a list. “We’ll start with the first episode. Now no suffering in silence, if you don’t like it let me know, okay?” 

Aziraphale assured him that he would and settled in to watch the program, feeling decidedly curious. He soon found himself falling in love with four ladies who shared a house, laughing at their predicaments and very much enjoying himself. It felt like getting a glimpse of Crowley that not many people got to see somehow. 

The afternoon and evening passed in quiet companionship. Aziraphale occasionally asked a question or Crowley piped up in excitement to draw his attention to a point he particularly enjoyed. 

Another episode finished, and Crowley sat forward. “We should probably do something about dinner, Angel, those biscuits aren’t going to tide us over forever,” he said, just as his phone rang. 

Crowley jumped in surprise and fumbled it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. His face screwed up but he punched the button regardless. 

“Hello, Jonathan. Yes. No, I...yes. Yes. Okay then.” He hung up without offering any kind of farewell and collapsed back onto the couch, his face dark. 

“My dear? What’s wrong?” 

“Apparently there’s been a screwup with the paperwork for one of the clients I’m handling at the moment. I have to go in in the morning and sort it. I’m sorry, Angel, I’m going to have to bail on our weekend together.” 

Aziraphale straightened, thinking quickly. He needed to see where Crowley worked anyway to get an idea of what, exactly, went on for him there. This could be the perfect opportunity, if he could tag along. “Perhaps, my dear, I could accompany you? If my being there would cause a problem for you I could...encourage other people not to notice my presence. You would know I was there, but no one else would really see me?” 

“You can do that?” Crowley stared at him, amazed. “I mean...I’ve seen you do some things, Aziraphale, but I guess I assumed that, since you just approached me, it wasn’t something you could do.” 

Aziraphale flushed darkly. “Yes, well, I may have been somewhat flustered at the time. Not really thinking. It was perhaps not my best day. Besides, I couldn’t possibly allow you to walk home in that dreadful rain! What kind of guardian would I be if I did that?” Crowley laughed some of the upset draining from his face.

“I guess if no one else knows you’re there it would be alright,” Crowley considered. “It’s not like you’re going to go sharing other people’s legal matters around, after all. Okay. You come in with me in the morning and whenever we finish we’ll go find a chippy and have fish and chips.” He smiled, now looking much more relaxed at the prospect of going into work the next day, although the tightness still hung around the edges of his expression. Aziraphale wished he could smooth it all away, and he felt rather certain that the next day he might just discover the key to accomplishing that. 

~~~@@@~~~

Aziraphale followed Crowley up the steps where they’d first met and into the building. The cold white marble was both imposing and very heaven-like, and Aziraphale felt an instant dislike for the decor. He stuck closer to Crowley, not clinging but wanting the touchstone of his human friend close to remind him that he wasn’t back in heaven. 

He followed closely on Crowley’s heels into a large office and looked around with interest. Most of the desks were empty, but there was a rotund and very annoyed looking man waiting for them. Already Aziraphale didn’t like the place. It felt wrong somehow but he wasn’t sure exactly how. 

“Anthony!” The way he said Crowley’s name made Aziraphale grateful that he’d stuck to using Crowley. The name sounded like a weapon in this man’s mouth. “This is a serious mess you’ve made here. What the hell were you thinking? This is one of our most important clients, and they’ve been trusted to YOU. You are supposed to be taking care of them with all of that care we KNOW you possess, we’ve seen you lavish it on all those little pro bono clients we let you take on. Now the firm wants you to use it to actually create some profit and THIS is what we get?” 

Even though Crowley didn’t allow it to show in his posture Aziraphale could feel how each of those barbs hit, striking with a force that only those you have respected in the past can accomplish. He wished he could touch Crowley, to support him, but he wasn’t sure he could distract the other man from seeing the effect on Crowley’s very trim suit. 

Crowley followed the round man (was this the ‘Jonathan’ of last night?) into an office and took the paperwork to look over. When he saw the problem his face darkened just the tiniest bit, not with shame but with rage. “Of course, I’ll take care of it directly, Jonathan,” he said stiffly, answering Aziraphale’s question in the process. He stood stiffly and prepared to leave the office, only to be stopped by the man speaking again. 

“See that you do, or you may find yourself looking for work without any kind of reference,” the vile man threatened. Aziraphale opened his senses towards the man a little and the malicious amusement he felt from him sent rage coursing through him. It was all he could do to keep from smiting him where he sat. Instead he brushed his thumb and middle finger together, barely even a click, and gifted him a ‘mirror’ - the things he put out into the world would come back to him rather more swiftly than they may have otherwise. When he was cruel to others, he would suffer serious misfortune. Of course, if he mended his ways, the converse was also true. Aziraphale wasn’t worried about that part, he just wanted this man to suffer for what he was doing to Crowley. 

Crowley merely nodded stiffly and exited the room, Aziraphale once more on his heels. He had done an admirable job of pretending the angel wasn’t there the whole time and Aziraphale was very impressed. As soon as they were in a much smaller, darker office with Crowley’s name on the door and said door was closed behind them, he went to tell him so, only to have Crowley take him completely by surprise. 

His face a furious rictus, Crowley slammed the file down on the desk, then lifted it and did it again, and again. “That ABSOLUTE bastard,” he hissed, furious. “He knows this isn’t my screwup. It’s not even on my part of the contract. This was worked on by one of the partners, they wouldn’t let me touch this part. But you can’t call your superiors and bring them in to fix their mistakes on the weekend. If he was just honest about it I wouldn’t mind half as much, but then he LIES about it and tries to make me feel guilt for shit that isn’t even my fault and…” his rage slowly tapered off and he turned his face toward Aziraphale. The rage was gone, but the ravaging effects of it remained on his expression. This was the expression he’d seen on Crowley’s face when he’d come home on Friday. It was so far removed from what his friend should look like that Aziraphale itched to do something more to the horrible, malicious man down the hallway. Only the knowledge that he would soon suffer, and keep suffering, in some unknown way kept the angel in place. 

Crowley slumped down into his chair. “I’m sorry, Angel, I just...I really hate working with this client anyway because they’re basically out to screw everyone they can. They enter into contracts and then use small clauses they have us include to force people to do more than they thought they were agreeing to. Sometimes a lot more. They’ve taken over more than one company and completely forced out the former owners even though they had had a verbal, handshake agreement that they could stay on in a figurehead position, things like that. It just...rubs me so wrong. You don’t deserve to suffer my temper, though.” 

Aziraphale stepped forward and did what he’d wanted to do since they entered the building, laying a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. He squeezed gently and Crowley looked up at him. “I’m not suffering from your temper, Crowley, because you aren’t turning it on me. I’m fine. You needed to let that out, I think.” He sighed softly, wishing that he could do something to change Crowley’s circumstances here, but there just wasn’t much. This was something the human would have to fix for himself, somehow. 

Aziraphale was suddenly struck by the memory of how Crowley had looked when he’d recounted the story of getting justice for Rosa and Nonna. It had been as far removed from how he looked now as it was possible to get, and he wondered - was there a way for Crowley to do that type of work all the time? 

He put the idea on the backburner and returned his attention to Crowley who was now combing through the paperwork carefully. He sighed loudly. “I knew it. These are worse than the clauses they get me to write normally, much worse. There’s a reason they don’t normally even let me see this part of the contract, this is...horrible. Oh, it’s all LEGAL, but it’s so wrong, the things they can make people do with these innocent sounding clauses.” He stopped talking and buried his face in his hands. “They’re using me to screw people over. This is not what I got into law for. The law is meant to protect everyone, not to allow some people to play with others like toys. This is just…” he sucked in an enormous breath and got to work on the papers, highlighting things and writing notes. “I can’t access this on my computer, but Jonathan can,” he explained to Aziraphale. “He’ll have his secretary type up the changes first thing tomorrow, before the meeting with the company at 10am. That’s why it needed to be fixed today.” 

Aziraphale nodded without saying anything, watching Crowley work. It was rather mesmerising, really, the level of concentration he brought to it, the level of conscientious effort he applied to accomplishing even an outcome that disgusted him. Aziraphale pictured him pouring all of that dedication and effort into something he actually cared about and the way he would pour his heart into it as well then. It was a beautiful picture. He wanted that for Crowley, fiercely. He wasn't sure what kept him here, in this job he hated, but he was going to have to find out. He could already see Crowley hardening himself to just get the work done. If he continued to toughen his conscience against these acts Aziraphale knew he would fall from his path and end up in the clutches of hell. He couldn’t allow that for Crowley, not with his bright, beautiful soul. He couldn’t stand to see it tarnished, let alone what Hell would do once they actually got their hands on him. 

He turned his attention away from what Crowley was doing and began plotting, thinking about what he thought Crowley would like in a career if he were given the option. He’d gained a great deal of understanding about how the world worked in the last few days, considering how naive he had been when he arrived. He knew that for Crowley to be able to do what he wanted, he would need to have his own practice, and they would need to come up with a way for it to make money while still allowing him to choose his own cases from among the disenfranchised, the downtrodden and the bullied. 

He knew that what he was mentally sketching would probably bear no relation to the reality of what Crowley would decide to do but it gave him something to think about other than his growing wrath with the situation here. He wondered how it had come to this, how Crowley had ended up here. As he wondered he began getting angrier again. To distract himself, he redirected his attention to Crowley’s office. It was dim and dismal and the whole place felt steeped in ill-feeling. Just being in there put Aziraphale on edge. He moved around the room, quietly blessing small objects, lightening the atmosphere. There was only so much he could do, the office outside these doors was feeling more and more like a cesspit. There was only so much that Aziraphale could do to keep it at bay. It was particularly hard to affect anything around Crowley’s desk, which made sense, since that was where the majority of what got brought into the office was kept. 

Crowley finished the work a few hours later and Aziraphale was starting to feel decidedly ill. He needed to get out of the office; that much concentrated ill will, malice and straight-up evil was really beginning to affect him. Once Crowley turned away from his desk and actually looked at Aziraphale his expression tightened with worry. 

“Angel? Are you okay? You look awful.” Crowley surveyed Aziraphale critically. “You’re grey. Aziraphale, what’s wrong?” 

“This...this place. It’s...evil, Crowley. I probably shouldn’t have stayed this long.” 

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Crowley snatched up his things, and the paperwork from the desk. “Come on, Angel, let’s get you out of here.” He wanted to put a hand under Aziraphale’s elbow, but that would look a little odd, walking around offering support to empty air. Instead he made his way as quickly as he could to Jonathan’s office, dropping the papers on his desk. 

“That’s done,” he told him. “As soon as Samatha types it up, we’ll be good to go.” The man grunted and lifted the paperwork. He was intensely slow as he looked through the notes and Crowley had to force himself not to fidget as he waited. Aziraphale was swaying on his feet by the time Jonathan grunted again and waved a hand, dismissing Crowley. Crowley turned and hung his coat on his arm, allowing him to hold it out at an angle that Aziraphale could then hold onto. The angel’s grip was weak and Crowley could feel the tremors shaking him through that grip. He made his way as quickly as he safely could to the exit. Once they were in the lift and the doors shut between them he moved quickly, catching Aziraphale in his arms as the angel staggered. He all but carried him out to the Bentley and carefully lowered him into the seat, the door held open by a helpful passerby. 

In the car Aziraphale immediately seemed to improve. His colour shifted more towards the pink end of the spectrum instead of the blue, and the tremors lessened. He still didn’t look well but he no longer appeared to be at death's door. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief and started the car.


	5. Your first warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are having so much fun with this, and watching you all enjoy it! Thank you to everyone who has tapped that kudos button, or left a comment, it's so great to hear what you think! Hope you like this chapter too!

Crowley drove down the street at an almost sedate pace, glancing with concern at Aziraphale whenever he felt he could safely take his eyes off the flow of traffic. The angel was looking much better than he had in the office, but that wasn’t saying much. Crowley was pretty sure that there were corpses that looked better than Aziraphale had in the office. 

He thought about stopping for food and decided that ordering delivery was well within his budget and he really just wanted to get Aziraphale into the flat right now. The angel’s cheeks were slowly regaining their colour and Crowley put his foot down, deciding that getting home faster was definitely the best thing he could do for the angel right now. 

He pulled the Bentley up to the curb and almost ran around to Aziraphale’s side, barely remembering to lock the driver’s door as he went. He carefully helped the angel out of his seat, handling him as gently as he would have an ornament of spun glass. Aziraphale still appeared quite unwell, although the deathly pallor had left his cheeks, and he leaned heavily on Crowley as they made their way into the apartment. Once inside, Crowley helped Aziraphale to the couch then hovered for a moment. 

“TEA!” he exclaimed, bolting towards the kitchen and whacking the kettle on, preparing the pot so speedily the kettle wasn’t even halfway to boiling before he had everything else ready to go. After a moment’s thought he carried everything except the pot through and arrayed it on the couch, then took a blanket and wrapped it around Aziraphale. He was feeling worse and worse as time went on and he realised this was his fault. Aziraphale wouldn’t have been in the office if it hadn’t been for him. 

By the time the water was in the pot and he was carrying it back into the lounge room, Crowley was mentally beating himself to bits. He sank down on the couch and quickly poured Aziraphale a cup of tea, sugaring the cup and adding a splash of milk. He passed it to Aziraphale who took it with a slight tremor in his fingers and sipped quickly. 

Aziraphale sipped the tea and allowed the calm atmosphere of Crowley’s apartment to wash over him, driving what remained of the worst effects away. He had a feeling he would feel not wonderful for a little while but compared to how he had felt earlier he felt pretty wonderful really. 

He turned to look at Crowley, who was curled forward over his own cup of tea, and frowned in concern. Crowley looked terrible, worse than Aziraphale felt now. “Crowley?” Aziraphale set down his now empty tea cup and reached for where Crowley’s was shaking in his hands. He carefully took the cup and set it on the table, then wrapped Crowley’s hands in his own and used them to turn the human to face him. 

“Crowley?” he said again, ducking to look into his face. Crowley met his eyes, his face twisted into an expression of pain. “What’s wrong?” 

Crowley swallowed hard, looking at Aziraphale. The angel looked back at him, concern in his yes. Crowley swallowed and glanced down, then looked up again. “I’m so sorry, angel. You have to know that I would never hurt you on purpose, right?” 

Aziraphale blinked, startled, and frowned slightly. Was Crowley feeling guilty for working in an office evil enough to make an angel ill? “Crowley, you surely don’t think that I blame you for this?” Crowley’s facial expression answered without him having to say a word. “Crowley, this isn’t your fault. At all. You didn’t know what could happen to me there. Hell, I didn’t know what would happen! I have never been exposed to that amount of evil before, because even during the war our opponents were still angels. I’ve never come up against evil in that sort of concentrated form and yes, it hurt. But that’s not your fault. Do you understand, Crowley?” He stared intensely into Crowley’s eyes, willing him to believe him. 

Crowley hummed slightly, then shrugged. 

“You know, there’s something that I really think would help me right now,” Aziraphale told him, and Crowley perked up instantly, eyes brightening. Something he could do to help Aziraphale feel better? He definitely wanted to do that. Aziraphale smiled slightly at him, then opened his arms in the same gesture Crowley had shown him so recently. “Hug?” Aziraphale asked softly, and Crowley gladly scrambled forward to wrap his arms around the angel and be embraced in return. The two sat on the couch and hugged for a long time, Aziraphale collapsing forward into Crowley’s embrace after a few long moments, the red head holding him tighter and murmuring comfortingly to him. It was a good ten minutes or more before the angel loosened his grip on the human and sat back a little, eyeing him carefully. Clearly satisfied with what he saw there. “Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered, sitting back and smiling at Crowley, who smiled shyly back. “No more blaming yourself. This was not your fault. I should probably have said something, but I didn’t want to leave you alone in there either.” 

Crowley shifted away now that they were no longer hugging and reached for his phone. “I’m gonna get us something to eat, that should get you really feeling better.” Aziraphale agreed and settled comfortably on the couch, enjoying the long line of heat that was Crowley pressed against his side. It was an intensely comforting feeling, having him in such close proximity. Aziraphale put off asking any questions that might stir up Crowley’s guilt again. He would ask about Crowley’s work, but for now being here together was exactly what both of them needed. 

Fish and chips was a very different culinary experience than those Aziraphale had had so far. Eaten on his lap on a piece of torn paper and using his fingers without even the suggestion of cutlery; it was charming. The crispy crunch of the batter, the mingling of the salt and oils with the sweet, delicate flesh of the fish was a study in extremely pleasant contrasts. The chips, hot, crispy, fluffy on the inside with just the right amount of salt on them were delightful. He wasn’t so keen on the dim sims and only ate part of one. The dark beer that Crowley poured for them both, a Guiness he called it, greatly complimented the greasy, comforting food. And there was something intensely comforting about this food, although Aziraphale couldn’t for the (immortal) life of him put his finger on what that was. 

Crowly put on more episodes of the Golden Girls. Aziraphale watched it with him until the food was gone then cleaned his hands (and disposed of the empty wrapping paper) with a snap of his fingers, drawing his hand down. He reached for a book with his now clean fingers, only to be distracted by his companion. 

“Why do you do that?” Crowley’s curious question drew his attention from where he was reaching for one of his books, and he turned to the human, raising an eyebrow. “Do what?” he asked, curious. 

“The finger snapping. Surely things will just happen if you will them to?” 

Aziraphale made a face. It was true that some miracles could be done without the action, it definitely made it easier to draw the power down from Heaven. “It’s easier with it,” he said with a shrug, not at all sure how to explain the metaphysical mechanics involved when all it appeared he was doing was clicking his fingers. “Yes, some things I could do without it, particularly if I was touching something. That’s how I blessed most of your personal office space today without disturbing you, after all.” 

“You WHAT?” the shocked expression on Crowley’s face was almost comical, it seemed so exaggerated. 

“I blessed your office,” Aziraphale repeated, looking down in embarrassment. “I probably exhausted myself a bit, actually, now that I think about it. Didn’t help with the whole ‘soaking in a background of evil’ reaction, most likely. Sorry.” 

“Goodness sake, Angel, don’t apologise!” Crowley was still wide eyed, but also looked incredibly touched. “That’s the most amazing thing anyone has done for me in...in a long time. Thank you.” 

It was Aziraphale’s turn to blush, and he did so brilliantly, turning a bright red and mumbling incomprehensibly for a few moments. He looked up and met Crowley’s gaze through his lashes, then dropped his head once more, embarrassment overcoming him. 

Crowley chuckled and, rather than pressing the point, threw an arm along the back of the couch behind Aziraphale’s shoulders and turned his attention back to the television. Aziraphale picked up his book and settled in to read, tucked against Crowley’s side.

~~~@@@~~~

The next morning, Aziraphale watched Crowley depart the flat with some concern. Now that he knew what the human was walking into, he was desperately worried for him, but he had given Crowley his word that he would not follow him to work. Crowley was determined that Aziraphale would not expose himself to that environment again if it was avoidable.

Aziraphale was less than convinced that this was a good plan, sure that he could cope with the office environment if he wasn’t expending all of his energy on blessing Crowley’s office space, but he couldn’t promise Crowley that that was the case. Crowley had flatly refused to take any chances, but promised Aziraphale they would discuss the whole situation at the end of the day. 

Now Aziraphale needed to do something to distract himself from worrying about his friend. He read for a while, but eventually grew too restless to stay indoors and left the flat, tucking his phone and wallet into the pockets of his pants as he went. They were to go and pick up his new clothing this evening, he suddenly remembered, and it was that which was distracting him when he walked straight into Gabriel standing in the middle of the elevator, where there had been no one only moments ago. 

“Gabriel!” he all but yelped, jumping backwards and standing straight, hands clasped behind himself to keep himself from fidgeting with the cuffs of his clothing. He took care to look his superior straight in the face, and waited. 

“Aziraphale! How are things going?” The smile did not reach the archangel’s eyes. They were a cold, calculating purple, and Aziraphale felt an internal shiver as he looked into them. They were nothing like Crowley’s warm, kind gaze. 

“Fairly well, Gabriel. Things have already improved markedly in my charge’s life, from what I can tell. I think I have traced the source of the evil that is threatening to turn him away, and we are going to be discussing it this evening.”

“Discussing it?” Gabriel looked at him. “Aziraphale, are you...in contact with your protectee?” 

Aziraphale blinked, then stared at Gabriel. What else was he supposed to be doing, exactly? He couldn’t ask Gabriel that question, of course, or do anything but tell him the absolute truth. “Yes, I am.” He didn’t elaborate, suddenly feeling uneasy about how this might go. 

Gabriel sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing up at Aziraphale. “Do you know nothing about being a guardian?” he demanded. “Your job is to observe and gently influence WITHOUT direct contact.” 

Aziraphale bit back acidic words that wanted to demand exactly how he should have known that, considering the information he was given to start his mission. There had been absolutely zero guidelines in there about how he was supposed to carry them out. He took a more conciliatory tone, but he stood his ground. “Well, with all due respect, Gabriel, no. I don’t know, and there were no guidelines in the information that I was given. I was not put in touch with anyone else serving as a guardian, so I’m not sure how I was supposed to know.” 

Gabriel’s eyes rose with each word, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment, clearly thinking hard. “Well, the truth of it is, an individual guardian for a single human is...not something that we have wasted our efforts on before,” he finally admitted. “Were there no guidelines laid out in the information pack you were given?” 

Aziraphale shook his head silently, now questioning whether the archangels had deliberately left him so utterly unprepared or if they just hadn’t checked someone else’s work in putting together an information packet for him. He remembered suddenly the way they had looked and spoken the day he was sent down to earth, and a deep conviction gripped him that no, they had known what they were giving him. The fact that he hadn’t come limping back to Heaven within the day begging for help must have come as quite a shock. 

Gabriel drew himself up straighter and flicked a hand as though to dismiss the previous conversation. “Well, what’s done is done. You’re established with him, it would be very awkward for you to withdraw from him now, I suppose. Very well, remain with him. Now, we saw a great many blessings called down yesterday, what was that about?” He was frowning now, and Aziraphale drew himself up with the certainty that in this he was right. 

“His workplace is steeped in such evil, I’m hoping to soon persuade him to leave it, but for now to protect him while he is there I blessed his personal space within the office,” he reported simply, and Gabriel frowned but nodded. 

Gabriel nodded, and Aziraphale waited for him to query the expenses on the credit card, when it suddenly occurred to him - what use did Heaven have for money? The likelihood of them tracking his use of it suddenly seemed a very distant worry. 

“Would you care to join me for some sushi, Gabriel?” he invited, and Gabriel was suddenly staring at him, eyes wide. 

“What?” he demanded, gaze sharp. 

“Sushi. It’s a food, fish and rice, you dip it in soy sauce. It’s very good.” He hadn’t been planning on going for sushi when he left the house but now it sounded like an excellent idea. 

His bubble burst a moment later when Gabriel frowned severely at him. “I do not sully the temple of my body with gross matter, Aziraphale. No angel should.” The disapproval in his tone was scathing, and Aziraphale shrank underneath it. “Look at you. That corporation was in perfect condition just a week ago! What have you done to it?” Gabriel poked Aziraphale’s middle, where his comfortable bulk now rested. Aziraphale glanced down at himself, then back up, unsure how to explain or even if he wanted to. 

“Is this how an angel of the Lord presents themselves?” Gabriel demanded, and Aziraphale swallowed back the reply that it was how THIS angel of the lord did, yes. Doubt was creeping in on him at every level now. He wasn’t here to pursue his own comfort, enjoyment or interests, after all. He was here with a job to do.

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. “Steep learning curve. Do better.” The hand vanished and the archangel was gone. 

Aziraphale ran a shaking hand over his face, and punched a button on the elevator blindly. He stumbled out, glad to find he was on the ground floor, and made his way out into the street. He stepped into a beam of sunshine and stopped, raising his face to the sky, breathing deeply. He stood for long moments, calming his racing thoughts and thundering heart, then began to walk. 

Gabriel’s words buzzed around and around in his head, and no matter what he tried he couldn’t seem to shake them loose. Every time he addressed one part, another got louder and continued tormenting him. He looked down at himself, thinking. If he lost the gut he would satisfy the archangel, at least for now. Suddenly his spine stiffened. No. For the first time in his life he was in a place where he was happy; happy with himself and happy with the company he was keeping. He wasn’t going to change anything about how he was working, and if Gabriel didn’t like that he could...he could go hang! 

Mind made up, Aziraphaled walked until he found a sushi restaurant and was soon seated and enjoying some delightful treats. He was not going to allow Gabriel to ruin this for him, when by his own admission they didn’t actually have guidelines that existed for Aziraphale’s job. 

He wandered for most of the day; spent some time in a park, found the library and organised a library card and just enjoyed being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of humanity living their lives. Every so often Gabriel’s words still spun around in his head, creating a queasy sensation in his stomach and a tightness in his throat, but he forced them away. 

It was a while later when he realised he was close to Crowley’s office and, with a glance at his phone to check the time, he found that it was nearly 5pm so walked to sit down on the bench outside. He wasn’t going to break his promise to Crowley and go in but the idea of seeing him sooner was so tempting Aziraphale couldn’t resist. 

He sat on the bench and watched the door where he had first seen Crowley, waiting anxiously. He needed to see Crowley, to know he was alright. He couldn’t say why seeing the human was so important, but he knew that when he did he would feel better. He sat and waited, and when it clouded over and started to rain he miracled up an umbrella (a smaller one than his first effort) and continued to sit, ignoring the water that was soaking into his socks, shoes and the lower legs of his pants. 

He checked the time. It was well after five, but there was no sign of Crowley appearing. He shifted slightly on the bench and thought about making it more comfortable to sit on, but Gabriel’s disapproving face loomed large in his mind's eye and he settled to wait. He suddenly thought about what Gabriel would think of his promise not to expose himself to the atmosphere of Crowley’s office. He wouldn’t be impressed, certainly, that Aziraphale had agreed to just...not protect his human because the place wasn’t comfortable to be in. He would expect Aziraphale to make even Crowley not notice him and follow along. 

He was just weighing up the pros and cons of taking that exact approach butthe cons severely outweighed the pros; the idea of lying to Crowley made his stomach squirm in a way that was physically painful.

Every time the building’s door opened, Aziraphale sat up straighter, but Crowley didn’t emerge. He had told Aziraphale that he should get out on time, but if that changed he would contact him on his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket again and checked the messages. Nothing. Where was Crowley? He was just making up his mind to go into the building, he could certainly withstand it for a few moments it would take him to simply check up on his human, when the door swung open and Crowley almost stumbled out onto the concrete footpath. 

Aziraphale jumped up and crossed to him quickly, ducking around the few people still walking along the path. He reached Crowley’s side and, once again, extended the umbrella above him, making it just large enough for the two of them to share. 

“Crowley? My dear?” Crowley jumped at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice and his eyes shot up to the angel’s face. 

“Aziraphale? What are you doing here...Angel, you look awful, what’s wrong?” 

“I could ask you the same thing, Crowley,” Aziraphale tucked a hand into Crowley’s arm, feeling much better for the contact, and got him walking with a little tug. “You do not look well yourself.” 

“Not here,” Crowley began walking, almost towing Aziraphale with him, towards the car park that contained the Bentley. Once they were in the car, Crowley turned to Aziraphale and cupped his cheek. “What happened, Angel? You were alright when I left home this morning, did someone try to hurt you while you were out?” 

Aziraphale sighed slightly, then shrugged. “Gabriel came to take a report on my progress and give his evaluation this morning. I...do not measure up to his angelic standards, apparently. He was quite clear that I am not conducting myself in a manner fitting of an angel of the Lord, and that I need to remember that my job here is not to be happy or comfortable. Apparently I’ve done everything wrong since arriving, and he thought I had been given a great deal more information about how I was to go about my duties. So he was very unimpressed that I had even spoken to you.” 

Crowley frowned and rubbed Aziraphale’s cheek with his thumb. “He’s an arsehole, and he can stick his opinions where the sun don’t shine. IF, and it’s a big if, they really thought you were told more than you were, well, that’s on them. You deserve to be happy, and comfortable, and do the things you enjoy. I am so glad you came up to me and just talked to me, Aziraphale. You’re my best friend.” 

Aziraphale shrugged, not sure how to respond to any of that. Gabriel’s words spun in his head, but Crowley’s hand on his cheek and his soft voice cut through the Archangel’s cold, judging tones. Finally he pulled himself together and nodded, Crowley dropped his hand and went to start the car. 

“What about you, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked suddenly. “You look pretty terrible yourself, what’s wrong?” 

Crowley sighed, head dropping forward as his shoulders slumped. “It’s work, Angel. Just...really shitty work.” He shook his head, sighing again. “They want me to take over the worst accounts and they’re framing it as a promotion. Because getting to take care of scuzzballs who make their living by screwing over the little guy is apparently what I’m supposed to want out of my career. FUUUCK!” He yelled the expletive, sitting bolt upright and slamming a hand down on the wheel. 

Aziraphale flinched slightly, then reached over and gripped Crowley’s shoulder. “Why do you stay?” he asked gently. 

Crowley turned his head slowly towards the angel, his expression complex enough that Aziraphale couldn’t parse what he was feeling. After a long moment Crowley looked out the windscreen again, mouth twisting in a rictus of grief. “I stay because of Leonard,” he said after a long moment. 

“Who is Leonard?” asked Aziraphale, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Leonard...Leonard was the founding partner of the firm. He helped me, gave me the job when no one else believed in me because of some mistakes in my past. He had a vision for the firm, one that I believed in. He wanted the firm to be a place that did enough corporate work, good corporate work, to pay for doing all the good it could for the downtrodden in the world. He died, suddenly, two years ago. For a while, things didn’t change much, but once things settled down with the leadership within the firm, they started taking on these clients who Leonard wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole. For a while, I managed to stay completely out of it. I just did the pro bono work and kept my head down. Then they started assigning me stuff for the corporate clients; at first it wasn’t much and I just did it to keep getting to do the other work, the work that mattered to Leonard. Now...now it’s all I’m doing, and they keep giving me progressively shadier shit to do. They want me to start doing the exact opposite of what Leonard would have wanted.”

“So, then, if it’s not what Leonard would have wanted anymore, I ask again: why do you stay?” Aziraphale asked gently. 

Crowley sighed and slumped in on himself, opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“If you want to honour your friend, Crowley, there are better ways to do that. Set up a law office of your own and do what he would have wanted, help the people he would have wanted to help. That will be a much greater legacy than staying in the firm he started while it turns against everything he would have wanted.” Aziraphale’s expression was earnest as he looked at Crowley, who grimaced in reply. 

“I see what you’re saying, Angel, but...it’s not that simple,” Crowley started, then stopped, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

Seeing his chance, Aziraphale kept speaking. “You’d be your own boss, choose your own clients. You could do cases like Nonna and Rosa’s. Surely there’s a way for you to make some money while helping people like that?” 

Crowley frowned but nodded. “There is, actually. It’s a gamble, because if I don’t win the case I don’t make money, and I don’t want to be taking money out of the settlement if it isn’t big enough. But it is possible. I just...it’s a big risk to take, Angel.” Crowley looked uncertain now, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes that Aziraphale was determined to fan into a flame. 

“I believe in you, my dear. You can do it, for sure. Just think how proud Leonard would be of you for taking the hard path to do the right thing, instead of following the easy path and giving up on your ideals.” Crowley sucked in a hard breath, then looked Aziraphale straight in the eyes. 

“I hear what you’re saying, Angel. I need some time to think about it, okay? I’m not saying no, I just need to consider my options. Now, what shall we do for dinner? Have you eaten today?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted after a long moment. “I had sushi, after Gabriel told me that I shouldn’t be consuming gross matter.” 

Crowley beamed at him. “Good for you, Angel. Good for you.” The pride in his voice made Aziraphale flush happily. He shouldn’t be happy to have gone against what amounted to almost a direct order, but he truly was. “Now, dinner. I could use some comfort food; how about I make us popcorn and we watch some movies? I’ll introduce you to soft drinks.”

~~~@@@~~~

Crowley had thought, and thought, and thought some more. Aziraphale didn’t try to convince him any further, didn’t try to bring the topic up even. Instead, he sat beside him and watched the movies he put on, then settled in to read until morning.

He made a stack of books he should return to the library; now that he had his own card he could visit and acquire new books for himself. What would it be like to own his own books? He’d tried reading some on his phone but it wasn’t the same when he couldn’t turn the pages with his fingers. The idea of owning his own books suddenly took root; Aziraphale was gripped by it. He began looking for bookshops in the local area; there were a few and he marked down their addresses on a piece of paper to visit the next day. As useful as the phone Crowley had gotten for him was proving, Aziraphale found he really did prefer to work on paper. 

In the morning, Aziraphale made sure he had tea ready before Crowley ever stumbled out of his bedroom, looking more bedraggled than usual. He greeted the tea with a grunt and sat for a few minutes without speaking, just sipping from the cup he held between both hands. 

Eventually he gave himself a shake and sat up straighter, smiling slightly at Aziraphale. “Sorry, Angel. Didn’t sleep all that well; thinking too much, I guess. Read anything good last night?” 

Aziraphale waxed eloquent on ‘The Importance of Being Earnest”, which he had read the night before, and Crowley brightened. 

“We’ll have to watch the movie, it’s excellent,” he declared, and Aziraphale beamed. TV certainly wasn't as good as books, but it certainly had its place, and for a story that was written to be acted out it was certainly an acceptable medium. After a few more minutes of conversation, Crowley excused himself to prepare for the day, and Aziraphale collected the books he had finished reading. He wished he didn’t have to return them, but they weren’t his and there would be other people who wanted to read them. He really did want to find a book shop and see about acquiring books he didn’t have to return to anyone. 

Crowley was soon off out the door, Aziraphale watching him go with some worry, then the angel set out himself. Most of the books he had borrowed needed to go back to the library, he’d finished reading almost all of them. He gathered them carefully in his arms, using a miracle to stabilise them but not one to make them appear any less than they were. That resulted in him getting quite a number of odd looks as he made his way down the street, and several cabbies slowed to check that he was sure he didn’t want a lift. It was all worth it when he got back to the library to see the librarian blanch at the sight of all the books carried in his arms. 

He placed them on the returns counter and left them for her to deal with, and looked around the room consideringly. Did he want to borrow more right now? After a moment he decided he could always come back later, but right now he wanted to go and check out the bookshops he had found addresses for. 

The first was a very well-lit place, almost glaringly so. The books were carefully shelved and all shiny and new. It was very nice, Aziraphale supposed, but also very cold. He didn’t stay there long, and didn’t end up buying anything. 

The next place was cozier, and smaller. The shelves were a lovely dark wood, the books arranged by an obviously loving hand, but they were the same shiny new volumes that the previous shop had held. They were fine, he supposed, just...they didn’t call out to him in the same way the ones in the library did. 

It was at the third bookshop that he found his answer. This was no shiny new books emporium; these had been read again and again, whether by the same person or by many. The pages smelled of old ink and dust and the hands of the people who had handled them. These books Aziraphale found himself itching to handle, to own. They were full of the love of the people who had owned them and he wanted to hold each and every one of them in his hands and know them. The whole shop, with its packed shelves of very disparate books that reached towards the ceiling and the occasional wobbly stack of mismatched volumes, was the most welcoming place he’d ever walked into, with the exception of Crowley’s flat. 

The owner of the shop was a wizened little old lady who smiled at Aziraphale when he approached the counter with an enormous pile of books and quickly tallied the prices for him before naming a sum that was so small it seemed laughable. 

“Surely, dear lady, you’ve made an error,” Aziraphale commented. “That is far too little, for all these books,” he hurried on, seeing her worried, almost fearful expression. “Surely, you should be charging more? Why, that’s not even a pound per book, I cannot take such treasure from you for so little!” The lady was clearly shocked at this turn of events, but she did gratefully receive the sum that was more than twice what she had asked for. 

Aziraphale was just getting his books balanced in his arms when they came in. Two men wearing very nice suits whose presence drew a soft whimper of distress from the lady who was still sitting behind the counter within a few feet of the angel. The sound set the hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck on end and he straightened, carefully lowering the stack of books to the counter. Something was wrong here. He made himself inconspicuous, literally removing his presence from the consciousness of the two, and waited to see what would happen.

“Now, Miss Nancy,” the tone of voice was almost friendly, but there was an edge there that Aziraphale could clearly hear that wasn’t friendly at all, that sounded like a blade held hidden from view. “Have you been thinking about what we said? I mean, this shop...it’s an awful lot of work for an old bird like you, isn’t it? Not only that, it’s just so...flammable. Surely you don’t want to be dealing with insurances to get a pittance of what your life’s work is worth, do you? Be much better to sell straight away, get it all taken care of right now. This is a very nice piece of real estate you have here, once all this junk is cleaned out you can get an excellent price for it.”

Miss Nancy’s eyes darted quickly between Aziraphale and the men, then her shoulders slumped. She obviously assumed, since they were willing to speak in front of him, that he was with them. “Well…” her voice wavered, quivering with uncertainty, and Aziraphale decided he had seen more than enough. This man, with his assumptions that he knew best and his cruelty hidden within a friendly voice, reminded him of Gabriel, and what he was trying to do to this lovely little woman was just not on. 

Aziraphale drew himself up straighter and scowled fiercely, then removed the veil he’d placed on the men’s perception of him. “I don’t think I like the way you’re talking to my friend,” he said, his voice perfectly calm and even, but the men jumped nearly a foot in the air anyway, the shock of his sudden ‘appearance’ terrifying him. 

“I think you should leave,” Aziraphale took a single step forward, drawing on his experience in wielding a weapon to hold his body in a manner that conveyed power and threat, his voice dropping down to a crooning whisper. “And not come back. And if Miss Nancy were to have any...problems...with fire, or anything else that would put her out of business that is not entirely her own choice, then the people causing those problems, and the people hiring them, and so on as high up as it goes will be dealing with ME.” His wings burst into existence, brushing the ceiling, and his eyes glowed with holy fire. The men broke and ran, shrieking, out of the shop. 

A quiet moan reminded Aziraphale that there was someone else in the shop, someone he had probably just terrified most unjustly, and he swiftly turned to face Miss Nancy, his wings tucked close but not folded out of the physical dimension just yet. The woman was staring at him, her jaw slack and eyes wide. 

“Miss Nancy?” Aziraphale stepped towards her, a hand outstretched. “Don’t be afraid; I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let them hurt you, either.” He wiggled his shoulders and his wings once more folded out of the physical dimension his corporation occupied. Miss Nancy whimpered and her legs started to collapse under her. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the chair was suddenly beneath her, catching her in its now much more comfortable embrace. He extended his aura in a soothing wave, and the old woman sighed and relaxed into the chair, although the frown on her face didn’t shift. After a few moments her hands came up to cover her face, her shoulders shaking, and Aziraphale realised she was crying. 

He made no move to touch her, not sure that he wouldn’t inspire greater fear if he did so, but after a few minutes she seemed to pull herself together. She wiped her hands over her face then dropped them into her lap, sniffing loudly, and turned to look at Aziraphale. “Thank you,” she said, her voice honestly grateful. “They aren’t wrong, though. I mean, I don’t want to sell to them, but I do need to sell to someone. I’m getting much too old for this, and my lady would very much like us to spend our final years doing something other than curating this collection. So...thank you for stopping them, Mr…” She glanced questioningly at Aziraphale, who smiled gently at her. 

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell,” he introduced himself, managing not to flinch as he said the name out loud. The sound of those two words side by side was horrific, and he wondered if whoever had decided on his name had been trying to speak something into happening. He knew that no one in Heaven would be upset or particularly surprised if he fell; they’d all expected it to happen after he’d been taken from Eden. 

“Fell. A great or terrible power. A great pleasure to meet you, Mr Fell,” Miss Nancy told him. “My name is Nancy Granger. Again, thank you. I want to be able to have some say in what happens to my shop after it isn’t mine any more. My father had a shop here, and my grandfather before him. I never had children, and neither did my Mary. I wish someone would still want there to be a bookshop here; it’s been a bookshop for a very long time.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, looking around the space, the beginnings of an idea in his mind. A bookshop. He stood up and wandered the space, Miss Nancy watching him go but making no move to stop him. He paced the shop, taking in the space, and felt it growing on him. At the back he found a set of spiral stairs. He wasn’t going to go up them, but he did peer upwards and wonder what might be up there. He crossed back to Miss Nancy, a thoughtful frown on his face. 

“What would you need to sell this place? Inventory, building, everything.” he asked, curiously. 

Miss Nancy named a price that made Aziraphale’s eyes widen, but he nodded thoughtfully. “And what’s upstairs? Is that space included?

“Yep,” Miss Nancy popped the word. “A flat with the same floorspace as down here. It’s mostly empty, but I’ve kept it in good condition. Mary didn’t fancy living over the shop, too close to work, so I’ve used it for a bit of storage, particularly for valuable and fragile volumes. In the middle of Soho, it’s an incredibly valuable piece of real estate.” 

Aziraphale nodded, thinking. “I...might want to make an offer to buy your shop, at full asking price,” he said after a long moment. “I’ll need to do some thinking, and talk to my friend, but I believe that this shop may be just what we are wanting.” 

Miss Nancy gaped at him. She wasn’t sure what he was, or where he had come from, but the memory of him chasing the men out of her shop was as clear as crystal. The fear and awe inspired by this being could not be faked, and the clear delight he had in the books filled her with hope. Maybe this...man shaped being...would be the new keeper of the bookstore, and the haven that it also contained within its walls. 

“Well, I mean...if you want to make an offer, I’d be very willing to hear it,” Miss Nancy said after a long moment of flabbergasted silence. “I just...will need some time to consider it, of course.”

“But of course, my dear, I would never want to make you feel any kind of pressure,” the curly haired young man assured her. Although she had heard those words out of the mouths of many men through her lifetime, for the first time in her more than eighty years Nancy felt like she could actually believe them. 

They talked for a while longer, and the young man made her tea ‘to help her get over her fright’. By the time he left, Miss Nancy felt as though they had been friends for years, and she was feeling very comfortable with the idea of him taking over the shop. He spoke of books in the way only a few people in Nancy’s life ever had, and she found it incredibly comforting to hear. 

~~~@@@~~~

When Crowley got back to the flat that day, there was an expression of determination on his face. “I have to do it. You were right; I can’t keep doing this. It’s killing me. They were writing rental agreements today for what amounts to tenements, and they want me to find a way to make it legal for the landlord to cut off the heat and hot water. That and a bunch of other absolute bollocks that will mean they can screw their tenants six ways to Sunday.” He shook his head, glancing away. 

Seeing the pain he was clearly feeling at having to give up on his friend’s dream, Aziraphale stepped forward and gripped Crowley’s shoulder comfortingly. “I really think you will create a far better legacy for your friend elsewhere, Crowley,” he said softly. “You’ll be choosing your own cases, and if someone asks you to do things like that you’ll be able to say no. Then find their tenants and help them fight back.” Crowley started grinning a little at that, and Aziraphale smiled broadly at him. 

“Don’t know where I’m going to squeeze an office into this flat, though,” Crowley commented, glancing around. “Haven’t really got the space for it, but it’s not like I’ll be able to afford to actually get my own premises, not for a while at least.” 

“Ahhh,” Aziraphale shifted slightly, and Crowley’s eyes locked onto him with the intensity of a shark smelling blood, or a lawyer sensing a weakness, it was all the same really. 

“What? What did you do?” his eyes narrowed as he looked Aziraphale over carefully. 

Aziraphale sat down at the table and explained the events of his day. Crowley ended up doubled over his knees at the idea of Aziraphale scaring off mob enforcers, but at least part of the laughter was nervous tension. The fear at the idea of what they could have done to Aziraphale was visceral. As Aziraphale described the shop, though, the idea of the space started to come to life for him. Aziraphale, working downstairs surrounded by books, Crowley upstairs with a large office, a file room, a big board for arranging evidence, everything he always dreamed of in an office. 

Crowley smiled at Aziraphale as he finished telling him about the shop. The angel had been gushing for a few minutes about the whole space, and it was utterly endearing. The rush of emotion hit Crowley in the chest and robbed him of words. Oh. Oh no. No, he couldn’t fall in LOVE with Aziraphale. He was an angel, could angels even love like that? If he could, would he understand the kind of relationship that Crowley could offer? Crowley grabbed his feelings and stuffed them down, into a small box, slammed the lid and sat down on top of it. He did not have time for this right now. Aziraphale was starting to look concerned as he waited for Crowley to respond. 

Crowley forced himself to smile wider and speak. “Sounds wonderful, Angel. We’ll have to go and check it out. I’ll give notice today, then I’ll have two weeks of work left. We’ll go after work tonight, if Miss Nancy is alright with that.” 

Aziraphale beamed, not noticing Crowley’s stiltedness, and poured them both more tea.


	6. and where was your watchman then?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a serious TISSUE WARNING. Not giving anything away, but this is the saddest part of the story, right here. We promise it gets better after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are all enjoying, do please let us know what you think! Your feedback keeps us writing!

Crowley turned in a slow circle in the middle of the apartment, mentally configuring furniture arrangements and deciding if the space would work. It was a good space; there was a room that would make an excellent file room, one that could work well as an office that would hold both a desk and a couch for client meetings, and an area that could support a secretary/receptionist. 

He headed out onto the landing and looked down over the bookshop. Aziraphale was standing in the stacks with Miss Nancy as she showed him something, and Crowley smiled to see how at home his angel looked. This was the kind of place Aziraphale belonged; comfortably cluttered and surrounded by books in this dim lighting the angel positively glowed. Crowley mentally slapped himself, but it didn’t help. His crush on his friend was going strong and growing all the time. 

He headed down the stairs to join the two, smiling softly as Aziraphale lifted his brilliantly blue eyes to meet Crowley’s own. “What do you think, my dear?” Crowley felt his heart twist slightly at the simple endearment that the angel employed so easily. 

“I think it’s a really great space,” he told him honestly. “I think I could definitely make it into everything I would need and more. So,” he turned to look at Miss Nancy, who smiled a sharp-toothed grin at him, making him think of a very friendly but determined shark. “I think the asking price is very reasonable,” he continued, and watched her grin lose some of its edge. 

“Well, then. Come have some tea and we’ll talk details. I mean, you’ve brought a lawyer with you so I’m thinking you’re probably prepared to handle the paperwork,” she chuckled at the slightly panicked look Aziraphale threw at Crowley as she led the way to the backroom. 

“Don’t worry, Angel, I’ve got this,” Crowley reassured him, tugging him down to sit on the old couch. “I can get the contracts together, yes. We just need to hash out the details first, and I would be more comfortable if you had a lawyer of your own to look them over. I’ll need to speak with the bank, but I have a decent amount of collateral, securing the loan shouldn’t be an issue. We’ll probably need a copy of your ledgers, to show the profitability of the business…” Aziraphale turned suddenly to face Crowley, confusion creasing his features. 

“A loan, my dear?” Crowley blinked and nodded, not sure what Aziraphale was thinking. “A loan shouldn’t be necessary; I have the funds secured already to make the full payment,” Aziraphale told him, and Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. Aziraphale shrugged one shoulder slightly and Crowley just decided to go with it, at least for now. 

“Well, we’ll work out the exact details of payment later,” he decided quickly, and Miss Nancy looked between them, her eyes dancing with mirth. “I’ll get a contract together and what it really boils down to, Miss Nancy, is when you want to hand things over. Obviously you will have personal things in the building and you should make sure you give yourself enough time to comfortably remove them, although I would hope that if you forgot something you would be comfortable approaching us about it.” He stopped and shook his head; he was getting ahead of himself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to stress you out, my brain just runs away with me sometimes,” he apologised. The old woman chuckled and patted his arm gently. 

“My Mary is just the same, don’t worry about it, my dear. Speaking of Mary, though, I had better get home and let her know what’s been decided here today,” she swallowed down the last of her tea and the two followed her example, then allowed her to usher them out of the shop. They moved over to the car, leaving her to lock her front door, when it happened. 

Two young men dressed in overly loose jeans and ratty hoodies rushed her, pinning her against the glass and trying to muffle her cries by shoving a hand over her mouth. The one who attempted it swore violently and yanked his hand away, blood flowing from the fierce bite she had given him. He backhanded her on the side of her head with the blood stained hand, and his partner reached to open the door. 

Before either of them could do anything more, however, a brilliant light illuminated them and they looked up to find a brilliantly glowing globe hovering over them with no obvious source. Turning further, they saw a rotund man dressed in a sandy-coloured suit standing on the pavement, arms held out to his sides displaying his empty hands. 

“Now, normally,” the man said in a gentle voice, “this is when I would say ‘do not be afraid’. However, I find that for you that is not the sentiment I wish to inspire for you gentlemen. In fact, I think you should feel very afraid.” He took a step forward and seemed to grow larger in ways that his simply approaching them could not explain. A shiver of fear went down the back of the two young men, and the one holding Miss Nancy against the door let up on his grip enough that she was able to slam her foot down on his, then swing her elbow back and catch him hard in the side, which gave her enough room to get past them and run. Crowley caught her as she stumbled across the pavement, the blow to the head clearly starting to catch up with her. 

The two young men swung around to face Aziraphale fully now that their victim was out of reach, and he seemed far more terrifying than any plump, middle aged man with curly blond hair had a right to. Aziraphale took another step forward and began to glow himself, the light above the young men winking out as he snapped his fingers at it, leaving him as the only illumination for the area. 

“You are going to go back to the men who hired you and tell them that Miss Nancy is already arranging the sale of her shop to me,” he told them, his voice mild. “You will tell them that if they want to discuss this, I am the one whom they should contact. You will tell them to remember what I said to them the last time we met - don’t worry, they’ll know what you’re talking about. Then, you will go to the RSPCA and volunteer to do whatever jobs they need. You will return to school, or find a decent job, and all of your leisure time will be spent taking the best care of those animals that you can. You will never hurt any of them, you will be kind and loving. Am I understood?” Aziraphale had been slowly opening his other eyes, one here or there and allowing them to peer out through his corporation and the young men were shaking. The instructions he was laying on them were binding anyway but a little fright wouldn’t hurt. He included a protection that would prevent their employers from laying a finger on them, then waved a hand. “Leave.” The two boys, they really were boys, bolted. 

Aziraphale turned and crossed with quick steps to Miss Nancy’s side, cupping her cheek gently. “No broken bones, no bruises,” he murmured, sweeping a hand down her body without making contact. Miss Nancy straightened as the various aches and pains from the attack, as well as a few she lived with day to day, eased and vanished. “There you are,” Aziraphale smiled encouragingly at the tiny woman, who just blinked at him, and Aziraphale turned worried eyes to Crowley. 

“Miss Nancy, can you give me a number where I can call Mary?” Crowley shifted so he was facing the elderly lady and ducked to look her full in the face. He waited patiently while she parsed his request, then stuttered out the numbers. He punched them into his phone and had a quick conversation, explaining in as few words as possibly what had happened. He quickly determined that the best thing they could do for Miss Nancy was take her home themselves, and he helped her into the car with great care and ceremony. 

Aziraphale clambered into the backseat with Crowley’s help, then Crowley flipped the driver’s seat back into place and climbed in to get them going. They drove a relatively short distance, and Crowley made sure to drive carefully, not wanting to upset Miss Nancy any more than she already had been. Soon enough they were pulling up to an old terraced house where a much taller woman was waiting on the footpath outside, pacing and rubbing her hands together. She had the clear look of someone used to taking care of things and not liking being on the outside of a situation, and the build of a (slightly elderly) amazon. As soon as the Bentley came to a stop she was pulling open the passenger door and crouching down to cup Miss Nancy’s face in her hands, examining her carefully. After a long moment she leaned forwards and pressed her forehead to Miss Nancy’s, her eyes falling shut and a tear tracing its way down her cheek. 

“Thank god,” she whispered. “Thank god, thank god. And thank you,” she leaned around Miss Nancy to speak to Aziraphale and Crowley. “Thank you for being there, for stopping them and for bringing her home. Are you alright, love?” 

“I’m alright, Mary. Truly. It was foolish of me to think that with the sale organised things would be smooth sailing from here on out.” 

“I’ll be taking care of this,” Aziraphale told the two ladies as he finagled his way out of the back seat, Crowley catching him to keep him from face planting and enjoying the opportunity to hold his angel close for a few seconds as he caught his balance. 

Aziraphale smiled up at Crowley’s face so close to his own, then took a step backwards and out of the human’s arms. Mary was helping Miss Nancy up and out of the Bentley, then ushering her towards the house with an arm around her waist, calling back over her shoulder for them to follow. Crowley and Aziraphale brought up the rear, and were soon ensconced in a pair of very comfortable wingback chairs while Mary fussed over Miss Nancy on the sofa. 

“Really, Mary, I’m alright,” Miss Nancy tried to insist. “Not even a bruise or a bump, Aziraphale took very good care of me,” her eyes darted to the angel appraisingly, clearly trying to decide if she’d really seen what she remembered seeing. Aziraphale just smiled softly at her and she remembered him in the shop with the men, and then the way he’d spoken to the boys that had been holding her. She’d been sure that she had at least one if not several broken bones; when they first grabbed her she was sure she wasn’t going to survive the encounter. Then the calm but somehow terrifying voice had spoken out of the darkness and she had known she was going to be alright. 

The gentle touch of Aziraphale’s hands, and the relief from the pain that had been gripping her, had been as much of a shock as the sight of him glowing on the sidewalk. Miss Nancy looked at him again, trying to see the thing that was hiding inside him, but all she could see was the middle aged man who had been talking books and property with her all afternoon. 

“Hmmmph,” Mary muttered, then left the room to return with a loaded tea tray from which she proceeded to serve everyone a cup of hot, sweet tea and a tumbler with a finger of good strong whiskey ‘for the shock’. Aziraphale sipped happily, basking in the strength of the love between the two women. To look at they were polar opposites - Miss Nancy tiny and fine boned, like a china figurine; Mary tall and muscular, although clearly near the same age as her spouse. The way they looked at each other, however, left no room for doubt about their feelings. There was something familiar about it, but Aziraphale couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. 

“So, you’re buying the shop? Still?” Mary asked as she took a seat with her own cup of tea. “They didn’t scare you off?” 

“Certainly not, my dear,” Aziraphale shook his head, dismissing the idea. “It would take rather more than that to scare us off, I assure you. Crowley will be getting the contracts together, and as soon as you have a lawyer to read them to ensure that your best interests are indeed being protected we can go ahead with the sale. We’ll help move anything you want to keep out of the shop, and of course you will always be welcome to come and visit.” 

Mary smiled a slightly wobbly smile. When her phone had rung earlier she had felt an icy hand wrap around her heart and she thought it was going to be the call she had been dreading for months now, ever since the men had started coming around. She’d agreed with Nancy about not wanting to sell to them but at the same time there was only so much two old women could do to stand up to such creatures. 

“It’s alright, Mary,” Nancy shifted over, wrapping an arm around Mary’s waist and squeezing firmly. “It’s all going to be alright. Really, it is.” She dropped her head onto Mary’s shoulder, a few tears tracking down to moisten the fabric even as she tried to reassure her love. 

“Have you had dinner?” Crowley asked suddenly. “How about I organise something?” 

“Oh, I’ve a shepherd’s pie in the oven, thanks anyway,” Mary smiled at Crowley. “I’d ask you to join us, but it’s only big enough for two.” 

“Quite alright. Well, if you’ll be alright, now, Miss Nancy, we’ll leave you both to enjoy it. You’ll organise a lawyer and call?” 

With assurances that they would do exactly that, the human and angel returned to the Bentley. “Well, that was exciting,” Crowley said, shaking his head. 

“Indeed,” Aziraphale drew himself up, looking far less soft and far more implacable. Crowley suddenly understood what he’d said about being a soldier in a way he hadn’t before; this was one of heaven’s warriors. “I need to go and have a conversation, I think, my dear. Can you drive us back to the shop? I should be able to find those gentlemen and give them a piece of my mind from there.” 

Crowley frowned. He didn’t like the idea of Aziraphale confronting the men, for all that he’d already shown he could handle himself with them. He shook his head slightly, glancing away. He knew why he didn’t want Aziraphale to do it, and it wasn’t like it was a reason he could give his angel. With a sigh he put the car in gear and started to drive. 

Pulling up in front of the bookshop, Crowley frowned. He got out of the car and walked to the door, giving it a push. It had, apparently, locked. He heaved a sigh of relief; he hadn’t been sure that it had and none of them had thought to check it before they left to get Miss Nancy home. 

Aziraphale stood on the sidewalk, looking one way then another, seemingly studying the empty air, then he shook his head. “This isn’t going to work,” he sighed, shoulders slumping. 

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked, curious. 

“There’s too much...background interference, I guess,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Too much greed, too much petty evil. There’s no way to pick out the traces of the men who were here. I thought there would be, but...I guess humans are worse than I thought, in general.” He didn’t look at all happy at that thought, and Crowley wasn’t sure what to tell him. 

“‘s like a scent, yeah?” He asked after a moment, and Aziraphale nodded slowly. “So, it’s gotten lost in the traces of all of the people who’ve passed by. Is it only the negative things that are masking it? Or are the positive things doing that too? I can’t imagine how many people have passed by here since you met those men, surely they all have a part in it? And even if it’s the negative things that are disguising it, if they’re all contributing only a tiny bit, that would surely do it too?” 

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, you’re probably right, my dear. It’s probably a bit of both of those things. Even the traces of those young men who were here earlier have been swallowed up by...London.” Aziraphale threw up his hands, trying to indicate how enormous the problem was, and Crowley nodded sympathetically. 

“Hmmmm,” Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “I wonder. Well, I can’t think why it wouldn’t work, really,” he was talking to himself, and then he snapped his fingers decisively, drawing his hand down sharply. 

“What? What should work? What did you do?” Crowley asked, worried. 

“Ooooh, a little of this, a little of that. Either they will start having the worst possible luck in any number of ways, or we will cross paths again, or some of both. I rather visited their own desires back on them, I suppose. We may or may not see them again, I really couldn’t say for sure.” He shrugged, not able to bring himself to really care about it, either, then staggered slightly. The energy such a powerful but unfocussed miracle had required suddenly drained from him, leaving him weak and enervated.

Crowley quickly caught the angel as he almost swooned. He wasn’t happy that Aziraphale had just apparently exhausted himself to accomplish his ends, but he was glad that Aziraphale wasn’t going to be directly confronting the men. Angel he might be, but Crowley still felt more than a little fear at the idea of Aziraphale putting himself at risk like that. He hustled the angel back into the car, realising as he did so that Aziraphale was actually still wearing his original suit. It reminded him of the message earlier in the afternoon about Aziraphale’s suits being ready for final fittings and, all things being found to be satisfactory, collection. 

Aziraphale would have to go and have the final fitting tomorrow while Crowley was at work, and the human felt a little pang that he wouldn’t be there to see it happen. Two more weeks and he could walk away from the firm with his head held high, knowing he’d done his due diligence. 

They couldn’t move forward with the purchase of the shop and business until Nancy and Mary had their own legal representation, Crowley was determined that no one would be able to accuse them of taking advantage of the ladies. Depending on how long that took, and how long a settlement they agreed on, it could be anywhere from two weeks to months before the premises were officially theirs. He had a feeling it would be on the short end of that spectrum but there was simply no way to know for sure.

They headed home, still feeling rather unsettled but none-the-less satisfied with their day. Settling on the sofa with glasses of wine, Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley. “So, is the space upstairs as suitable as we hoped?”

“It is definitely suitable. You wouldn’t want to run a large firm out of there, but for what I’ve got planned it’s the perfect premises. I’ll be able to fit a secretary comfortably, which is a necessity. There’s a lockable room that can be our file room. A room with a great view over the street for an office, with enough room for a desk and a couch to comfortably fit. Yes. It’s perfect.” 

Aziraphale sighed happily, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, and Crowley felt the now almost-familiar feeling of being punched in the gut by the sight. He smiled back at the angel, who gave a delighted wiggle and took a sip of his wine. Crowley wished he could just reach out and wrap an arm around his angel, pull him close and revel in his presence, but he couldn’t do that. 

“Oh! My dear, I must tell you!” Aziraphale suddenly sat up straighter, face lighting with excitement, and Crowley felt the infectious nature of the angel’s mood grab hold of him and carry him off. “Miss Nancy was telling me today about the shop. It’s more than just a shop, apparently. Within the Soho community it’s a bit of a beacon, I guess. A safe space for people to come to if they need advice, or help, or just somewhere to hide for a while. She said that queer youth find it by word of mouth, so that’s something that will probably keep happening, and she hopes we won’t mind becoming the ‘Elder Gays’ of the neighbourhood.” A slightly confused expression flitted across Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley realised that there was a conversation they hadn’t had yet. 

“I understand what she means by queer youth, I looked that up after I read about the pride parade next week in the paper,” Aziraphale told him. “I’m not sure, though, what she meant by ‘Elder Gays’?” 

Crowley blushed furiously, feeling his cheeks go brilliantly hot, as he tried to think of how to explain. “They think we’re a couple, angel,” he managed after a moment, and found the words were easier to say than he thought they’d be. “So, an older gay couple, able to give advice, comfort and succor to the younger generations, the ‘Elder Gays’.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, glancing at and away from Crowley quickly as he thought, his expression giving nothing away as far as Crowley could tell. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “Well...I mean, neither of us could be considered straight, at least, can we? I mean, you’re...what’s that clever term you have for it, my dear?” 

“Genderfluid, Angel,” Crowley smiled at Aziraphale, who beamed back at him. 

“Right, genderfluid. I myself am an ethereal being whose true nature is beyond gender, or physical, or sexual, attraction to others. Oh, this body is basically male, in appearances at least. So I don’t know where I sit on gender, really, it’s a bit...whatever, I suppose. Male pronouns are fine.” He shrugged, and Crowley shrugged back, not sure what else there was to be said, really. 

“Attraction not a thing for angels, then?” he found himself asking suddenly as his brain fully parsed what Aziraphale had said. 

Aziraphale shrugged, really not sure how to answer the question. He hadn’t been a physical being for most of his life, so he wasn’t sure how to explain the lack of physical attraction to someone who had been a physical being for their entire existence. Oh, he could see the beauty in all of their physical forms but he felt no desire towards them. 

“I don’t either,” Crowley offered after a moment. “That’s another part of the LGBT community, Angel: Asexuals. People who don’t feel sexual attraction for others. That’s me.” He shrugged, his posture shifting to defensive as though he thought Aziraphale would say something now that he knew. 

“Asexual,” Aziraphale tasted the word on his tongue. He was discovering the joy of having words that described himself, beyond ‘angel’ and ‘soldier’. Friend, bibliophile, queer and now asexual. The word felt...right, like it fit him comfortably, like a coat that had been worn until it was just the right shape and size for the person inside it. “Yes. I’m definitely asexual.” 

Crowley wondered if he should bring up the topic of physical intimacy, but quickly dismissed it. Their conversation so far had happened under the cover of explaining what the ladies had meant by ‘elder gays’, but there was no reason to go bringing his interest (or rather lack thereof) in engaging in such activities into the conversation. He would surely give away his own interest in Aziraphale if he brought it up, and the angel would be horrified and disgusted with him. 

Crowley pushed the thought firmly away and redirected the conversation to choosing a movie to watch. He ended up sitting right beside Aziraphale, close enough that they were leaning against each other and it was at least as much Aziraphale’s choice as Crowley’s. They ate popcorn for dinner and Aziraphale had observed the ritual of popping the corn with great interest. 

Finally Crowley dragged himself off to bed, trying to keep his brain from focusing in on the words that kept spinning around and around in his head, the sound of them oscillating as though the speaker was nearer then further away. “Attraction not a thing for angels, then?” his own voice mocked him as it asked the question again and again. He needed to know; he needed to ask about love. He determined that he would ask in the morning and tried to force himself to fall asleep, but none of his usual tricks were working. He couldn’t seem to get his thoughts to stop whirling, seeing Aziraphale’s smile, his excited eyes, and then hearing those words over and over. 

Finally he gave up and slid out of bed, stumbling slightly as he headed for the couch. He wasn’t sure how he was going to phrase the question, but apparently the half of his brain that was actually asleep was the lawyer half and he ended up simply blurting the words out without thought. “Do angels love?” 

Aziraphale, startled out of his reading by Crowley’s sudden appearance as the human loomed over the back of the sofa, appeared taken aback by the question for a moment. He set his book aside and considered Crowley carefully. “Of course angels love, Crowley. It’s what we were made to do; to love God and to love her creations. We love all things; maybe some more than others. Why do you ask?” 

“Ngggk,” Crowley replied articulately, flapping a hand and now feeling much more awake and aware as he tried to think of a way out of the situation. “Not important, angel, never mind. Thanks.” He turned back towards his room, only to be stopped by Aziraphale’s voice. 

“I hope you know, my dear, that I care for you a great deal. You’re my best friend, Crowley. I’m so glad I have you in my life.” 

Crowley made several more inarticulate noises and escaped back to his bed, not feeling any more enlightened than he had before but at the same time oddly comforted. The feeling of comfort was enough to lull him to sleep, and almost slept through his alarm the next morning, groaning as it summoned him for another day of work.

~~~@@@~~~

A week later, Crowley virtually staggered into the bookshop at the end of the work day, although ‘end’ was debatable. Ever since he’d handed in his notice, the partners at the firm had started dumping more and more onto his plate. It was 8pm, he’d come directly from the office to the shop to collect Aziraphale, and the angel was done.

“Right. That’s enough of that. Drive us by your office, please, Crowley?” there was an expression on Aziraphale’s face that Crowley felt as though he should question but he was feeling so awful, exhausted and dirty he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he ushered the angel back out to the Bentley, Miss Nancy and Mary (who had been meeting her love at the shop every evening and walking her home) following them out and locking up. Aziraphale sat in the passenger-side seat and thought. 

“What’s the worst smell you can think of, Crowley?” he asked as they drove back towards the law offices. “I mean, really the worst, most disgusting thing ever.” 

“Decomposition. We used to get dead rats in the roof every so often when I was a kid, and the smell was AWFUL. Why?” Crowley side-eyed his angel, trying to gauge what, exactly, he was planning. Aziraphale smiled at him, a fierce expression with rather too many teeth, and it did nothing to reassure Crowley. 

“Oh, there’s just going to be a few...incidents that will make their offices uninhabitable for the next...oh, say, six months? Yes, six months ought to do it,” Aziraphale decided. Crowley was pulling to a stop outside the offices as Aziraphale said this, and he stared at the angel, eyes wide. 

Aziraphale looked up at the building, considering. He could do the work from out here, but as he’d learned when he’d miracled justice onto the men who ordered the attack on Miss Nancy, it was absolutely exhausting. He’d had no energy for two days after that. Still, he could see the building and he knew what he was going to be doing here. He carefully formed the idea of exactly what he wanted to happen and snapped his fingers, only to stagger on his feet. 

“ANGEL!” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale, wrapping an arm around his waist. “What did you do?” he hissed, worry making him sound angrier than he was. 

“Oh, ummm….a little of this, a little of that?” Aziraphale tried, but Crowley was having none of it. He carefully reseated Aziraphale in the car and turned to face him, expression stern. “What did you do, angel?” 

“Ummm...so, the ventilation system is now full of the smell of decaying flesh, there is a plague of rats that are eating the files and any computer cables they come across, and somehow the computer memory has been wiped.” Crowley stared at him for several long moments, then collapsed forward over the steering wheel, laughing uproariously. He pulled himself together after a minute and took in Aziraphale’s pale features. “We’d better get you something to eat, Angel,” he declared, putting the car in drive. “Anything in particular you feel like?” 

Aziraphale thought about it. He was starving, and any of the foods he had fallen in love with since coming to Earth would be wonderful, but…”Could we go to Rosa’s?” he asked after a moment, and Crowley smiled, a small, soft smile, and put the car in gear once more. 

“Always, Angel,” he reached over and tangled their fingers together. “Whatever you want.” 

The next morning, Crowley received a call to let him know that the offices were uninhabitable, and the firm believed it would take at least a week before they found other suitable premises, would he mind taking some of his paid leave in lieu? He didn’t. Aziraphale smiled at a job well done.

~~~@@@~~~

Crowley stood in his office, taking in the space once more. The furniture Aziraphale had helped him select was perfect, it gave the office exactly the comforting, secure and confident vibe that Crowley was wanting to project. The warm wood combined with the buttery soft leather of the couch gave the whole place a welcoming but still high-end atmosphere, and Crowley nodded with satisfaction.

He exited the upstairs apartment onto the landing to the sound of voices in the shop below, and he grinned as he listened to his angel and Miss Nancy bantering back and forth about appropriate sorting methods for books. The two were having a grand old time going through the collection together, checking it against the inventory that Miss Nancy had attempted to keep up-to-date, but with a business like a used bookstore that was almost impossible. 

Miss Nancy had been there every day since they’d signed the papers, helping out and sorting out the things she wanted to keep. Crowley was well aware that if she was to return six months from now and find something on the shelf that she wanted she would be going home with it but he understood her wanting to get it all sorted before the official end of settlement. She’d allowed him to start organising his offices upstairs and started training Aziraphale as soon as the papers were signed, long before the shop was supposed to come into their possession. 

Miss Nancy had no qualms about treating Aziraphale like a normal person, although she clearly remembered exactly what had happened both times she had been threatened in his presence and knew that he was something special. She addressed it, loosely, telling him she didn’t need an explanation, he didn’t owe that to her or anyone else. Aziraphale had accepted that with a smile and a nod, then turned back to learning the intricacies of the ancient computer that Miss Nancy used to keep the shop’s accounting books. 

Crowley made his way downstairs, grinning at Aziraphale when he glanced up from what he was doing and their eyes met. Aziraphale’s answering smile was brilliant and beautiful and everything Crowley wanted in his life. He wished that he could tell Aziraphale how he felt, but he still didn’t know how the angel felt about him and the fear of ruining what was absolutely the best friendship he’d ever had kept him silent. 

Crowley came the rest of the way down the stairs and crossed to where Aziraphale was painstakingly piecing a book back together. His previously unknown skill at this had delighted MIss Nancy, who had shown him a box of books she had intended to have professionally repaired before the gentleman who had previously restored old books for her went out of business. She hadn’t wanted to entrust the priceless volumes to anyone else, but when Aziraphale proved competent on lesser books, she had shown him youtube videos and online tutorials until he was extremely adept at the work. 

“I thought,” Crowley said, stopping beside Aziraphale, “we might take a walk in the park, stretch our legs, feed the ducks? We could have an ice cream?” he made his tone just a little wheedling, hoping he could convince Aziraphale to come with him, and the angel carefully set down his tools and stood. 

“That sounds like a delightful way to spend the afternoon,” he agreed, and they walked out of the shop not hand in hand nor arm in arm as Crowley silently wished they could, but standing close enough together that their shoulders brushed. They wandered the now familiar path and Crowley bought a strawberry ice and an ice cream with flake, handing the second to Aziraphale who wiggled happily. The wiggle did odd things to Crowley’s heartbeat, making it thud harder and louder in his chest, and he stuck the ice lolly in his mouth before it could betray him in any way. 

They had a lovely afternoon at the park, feeding the ducks, wandering the paths and admiring the flowers and trees. Crowley watched Aziraphale laugh, face bright, and decided. He needed to be brave and tell his angel what he was feeling. He’d let them get through officially taking over the shop and office, and then he’d take him on a really fancy dinner - the Ritz. He’d take him to the Ritz. Somewhere very nice but where no one knew them (like at Rosa’s, where they wouldn’t get the privacy he knew he would need). That decided, even though the thought of it still terrified him, Crowley relaxed to enjoy their afternoon.

~~~@@@~~~

Aziraphale stood in his shop, taking in his little domain. There was no grand opening - it wasn’t like the shop was new, after all. Still, there was an ‘under new management’ sign in the window and it was his first day of running the shop alone. Miss Nancy had declared her intention to leave him to it, at least for one day. Aziraphale moved over to a shelf where some books had fallen, pushing over their book stop, and began to repair the facade.

The bell on the door rang, a familiar enough sound that Aziraphale didn’t jump or flinch until he turned around. Gabriel and Sandalphon stood behind him, Gabriel with a severely disapproving expression, Sandalphon looking...oddly smug. Gabriel looked Aziraphale up and down as his eyebrows twitched higher, then he quickly schooled his expression into what he probably thought was a friendly smile. A few weeks earlier, Aziraphale would have believed that smile, but he’d learned what real smiles looked like, being with humans so much. He smiled back anyway, eyes flicking between his superiors and wondering what they wanted. 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel’s voice was warm, unctuous almost, but it chilled Aziraphale to the bone. He just seemed so happy about something and Aziraphale was sure it was something he himself was not going to like. “You’re looking...comfortable,” the obvious disapproval after their last conversation sent a frisson of fear through Aziraphale and he resisted the desire to bite his lip. It was easier, he had learned, to control his corporation than it had been to control his rings; he could hide what he was actually feeling much better than he could as an angel. “We bring you good news!” Gabriel laughed, and Aziraphale forced himself to chuckle, even as he wondered if poor Mary had felt as ill as he did on hearing them. 

“Gabriel. Sandalphon. What brings you all this way?” Aziraphale beamed, eyebrows drawing together as he took in the two angels in his shop. They looked so wrong, standing there. So clearly not human to his eyes. 

“Like I said, good news! You’ve done it, we’re sure. The lawyer is clearly established on the path he’s meant to be following now, so you can come home!” Gabriel’s eyes were cold and cutting, even as he beamed at Aziraphale. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale felt as though his heart was plunging down, into the earth below the shop. Go ‘home’. Back to heaven, where no one would spend hours chatting with him about anything and everything, where there were no little restaurants or cafes or, he swallowed hard, old book shops. Worst of all, no Crowley. No Crowley to look at him with that smile on his face, the one that made Aziraphale’s heart do funny things in his corporation’s chest. No Crowley to watch him try something new with a fascinated expression on his face, or to get so excited when Aziraphale discovered something else wonderful about life on earth. Aziraphale swallowed hard again, feeling his eyes prickle. His hands, he suddenly realised, were worrying at his waistcoat compulsively, rubbing at the edges of the fabric in an attempt to soothe himself. “Home,” he nodded slightly, keeping his eyes widely open to keep the tears from falling. He couldn’t let them know how he felt about this; the consequences of such behaviour when he actually returned to Heaven didn’t bear thinking about. 

“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” Gabriel’s smile said it had better be. “You’re all finished. Now, we wouldn’t want to worry your human, since you actually REVEALED yourself to him, you’d better let him know you’re leaving. We’ll be back in a couple of hours, I just need to stop in at my tailor’s.” Gabriel clapped a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, eyes boring holes into his corporation to his true self, Aziraphale was sure. 

As quickly as they had come, they were gone again, leaving Aziraphale feeling as though his heart had been ripped from his chest. Crowley. He needed Crowley, but his human wasn’t here, he’d gone out on a mysterious ‘errand’. Aziraphale stumbled to the comfortable couch tucked into a nook where people could sit and read for a while if they were so inclined. He collapsed onto it now, its springs groaning in complaint at the rough treatment. His eyes were burning, and the tears spilt down his cheeks without his say-so. He fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped at them hopelessly, a soft whimpering sound echoing in his ears. After a moment, he realised it was coming from himself, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. Go home. To that cold, empty place where no one wanted him. Not home to Crowley, who he now realised truly was his only home. Crowley was all he wanted when he thought of home; his warm smile, his soft eyes, his welcoming arms wrapping around Aziraphale for a hug. A huge sob shook Aziraphale suddenly, and a louder moan ripped from him. 

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and tried to ring Crowley, to beg him to come back, but the phone slipped from his trembling fingers. He tried to catch it but it hit the floor with a sharp cracking noise, and when he lifted it the screen was a spider web of cracks and didn’t respond to his finger’s increasingly desperate tapping. The tears took over full force then, convulsing him where he sat, his eyes burning, his nose so full he could hardly breathe. Finally he dragged himself together; this was doing nothing to help. He glanced around to check the time on the clock on the wall, trying to remember how long ago the two archangels had left, but he couldn’t remember what time it was when they arrived. 

The bell on the shop door jangled merrily and this time he did flinch. WIth a snap of his fingers he banished the worst of the effects of his crying jag; his suit straightened, his handkerchief was clean and his tears dried. He couldn’t do anything about his corporation's blotchy, swollen features, but hopefully any customer would be too polite to mention them. 

“Aziraphale?” his heart thudded in his chest at the sound of Crowley’s voice. “Angel? I’ve got a surprise for you, where are you?” Aziraphale stood, stumbling towards the sound of Crowley’s voice. 

“Cr...Crowley,” he managed to get out as his human came into view, resplendent in a black suit with a beautiful red tie, a huge bouquet of red roses held in his arms. Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, face spread in a delighted grin, but the expression melted into one of horror as he took in the angel’s features. 

“Aziraphale? What’s wrong?” Crowley took a step towards his angel, who was so clearly in distress. Aziraphale gave a low moan, and the roses hit the floor as Crowley rushed to his side, not noticing as the bouquet split apart, spilling flowers in all directions and dropping petals all over the rug. 

Aziraphale stood passively in Crowley’s arms, trying to keep from crying again even as his love - HIS LOVE, how had he not realised what Crowley meant to him, how stupid could an angel of the Lord BE? - wrapped his strong arms around him and murmured comfortingly. 

“Whatever it is, Aziraphale, we’ll get through it together,” Crowley promised. “We will.”

The words hit Aziraphale like a bolt and before he could properly process a response his head was shaking. “No, Crowley, we won't,” he whispered, pulling back enough to look up into his beloved’s face, trying to memorise the features he had thought there would be no danger of forgetting. “I’m...I’m being recalled,” he managed after a long moment. “Gabriel...he says I’ve done my job and it’s time to go...go back.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word home. Home was an apartment in Mayfair with a great many plants, home was a dusty old bookshop, home was Crowley, wherever he was. Heaven wasn’t Aziraphale’s home. He wasn’t sure it ever had been. 

“What?” Crowley pulled back slightly, looking at Aziraphale with growing horror. “No, they can’t do that, can they? Just tell them no!” Even as he said the words, he could see that they weren’t going to work, and Aziraphale’s shaking head only confirmed it for him. 

“Crowley, I can’t, I have to obe...I can’t not do what I’m told!” Aziraphale’s face was desperate, his cheeks wet and puffy as he begged Crowley to understand, to not hate him for leaving. 

Crowley grabbed for Aziraphale’s hand, even as a glow began to build around the angel who glanced around desperately. 

“No, I’m meant to have more time!” he cried, “they were meant to come back, not summon me! CROWLEY!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled desperately. “Don’t go, Angel. I...I love you!” 

With a silent but somehow deafening as well as blinding flash, Aziraphale was gone. Crowley crumpled to the floor, pressing one hand over his mouth to stifle his sobs and the other to his chest as though it would stop his heart from feeling as though it had been torn in two. 

Aziraphale, shaking with the pain of the unexpected mode of transport, appeared in what could have been any of Heaven’s sterile white halls, staring at his hand. It still tingled with the warmth and desperate pressure of Crowley’s fingers, but it was swiftly fading away. Aziraphale drew himself up straight, determined not to show his pain, even as in his heart he wept and raged.


	7. You in the chaos feigning sane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say sorry but I'm kind of not. I did Nano this month and there just hasn't been that much time for other writing, but I still managed a 7000 word chapter so...yeah. Here you go, enjoy, as promised. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to hit the kudos button or write a comment, they are all valued!

The sound of Crowley’s last desperate cry - and his confession - was quickly drowned out by the carping of the quartermaster. Aziraphale clung to the memory of the words desperately, hiding them away deep in his essence, even as they made him ache with the desperate pain they contained. 

“Just look at the state of this corporation! It was perfect, PERFECT, when you signed it out! It’s all...SOFT,” the disgust on the Quartermaster’s face hit Aziraphale hard, almost as hard as the hand he slapped forcefully into Aziraphale’s belly. Aziraphale wanted to flinch from the rough, uninvited contact, but he held himself still and allowed the furious angel to strip him out of the corporation, which he did with a great many ungentle motions. Finally Aziraphale was back to his rings, which spun in agitated patterns that he struggled to control. He wasn’t used to trying to control them anymore; a corporation had an entirely different system for displaying its emotions that Aziraphale had had to learn. Apparently in doing so he had forgotten most of what he knew about hiding his true form’s agitation. 

He drew deep on his reserves and determination when he was summoned to appear before the Archangels, however, absolutely determined that not a single wavering movement would betray his true emotional state. No one would be able to read what he was thinking or feeling in the movement of his rings, he was certain. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel grinned, the expression as cold as it had been on Earth, and Aziraphale felt a jolt of fear. Surely it couldn’t get worse than this? Surely this was the extent of what they could do to him? He drew himself up to attention and waited to hear what the Archangels had to say. “An excellent job, getting that human onto his path and away from all those evil influences. I mean, lawyer, there’s always gonna be evil influences there,” Gabriel rocked a hand back and forth in the air, “but we’re sure you’ve got him sorted out now. And you’re home! Isn’t it better, being free of that constricting corporation and able to stretch your wings? No distractions from your duties up here, either.” The sly jab did not pass unnoticed, although Aziraphale kept deliberately silent on the subject of ‘distractions’. “Well, off you trot, back to your post,” Gabriel dismissed him without another word, or thought, apparently. Aziraphale trailed through the halls of Heaven, back to the training grounds where his platoon was busily performing their maneuvers. They didn’t stop, but he was left in no doubt that they were staring at him regardless of whether they were still going through the motions. No one said a word as he took his place, his second in command merely giving a silent salute as he moved down slightly to allow Aziraphale to take his spot. 

Aziraphale’s heart squeezed as the absoluteness of his isolation and solitude hit him. He was alone, again. Before, it hadn’t been so bad, he hadn’t known any different. Now, though...now he knew what companionship was, and his heart cried out for it.

~~~@@@~~~

Crowley was still kneeling on the floor, lost in his grief, when the bell on the shop door gave its merry little tinkle to indicate that someone had entered. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, feeling as though his heart was breaking, but it must have been quite a while. The sun, which had been well on its way to setting when he’d entered the shop with the roses, was shining brightly through the windows, and Miss Nancy was standing in the door looking at him. 

“Anthony? What on earth are you doing down there? What’s happened?” Her voice grew shriller as she took stock of the whole situation; the scattered flowers, the suit, the tear-stained and swollen face of her young friend. “Where’s Aziraphale?” she demanded, voice now so shrill the glass was all but vibrating in the windows. There was only one reason for Crowley to be in this state, and that was if Aziraphale had, for some unfathomable reason, left him. 

“He’s gone...he’s gone,” Crowley stared around at the shop, but his gaze was distant. Miss Nancy looked down at him and groaned. “Alright, you’re going to have to work with me here, my dear. I can’t haul you around like I would have been able to once. You’re going to have to stand up yourself, up you get,” she gave Crowley’s shoulder a tug, and when that didn’t get any reaction she took his ear in a less than gentle grip and pulled. Crowley yelped, but he also stood up and she counted that as a win. Planting him on the couch with a box of tissues she went into the kitchen and emerged shortly thereafter with a pot of tea, a tumbler of scotch and her partner on her way to join them. 

She sat down next to Crowley on the couch and handed him the glass first. “Drink,” she ordered, and Crowley knocked back the shot like the professional he was. He hissed through his teeth, staring down at the glass, and was about to hurl it across the room when Miss Nancy snatched it out of his hand. 

“None of that, now,” she ordered. “Now, you’re going to drink your tea and tell me what, exactly, happened.” 

Crowley looked at her, wide eyed, and nodded. He began to explain, haltingly at first, then more fluidly, about Aziraphale being sent as a guardian angel, his guardian angel. 

“Well, of course he is,” Miss Nancy interrupted, then waved for Crowley to continue with the story. Crowley did, not even cracking a smile at little old lady’s calm acceptance of the situation. When he explained how Aziraphale had gone, had left him, she leaned forward with a frown. 

“He didn’t LEAVE you, love,” she said, taking Crowley’s hand in hers. 

“I just told you, he…” Crowley tried to defend himself but Miss Nancy was having none of it. 

“He didn’t leave you, Anthony. He was TAKEN from you. There’s a difference. Did he want to go?” she asked the question while clearly knowing the answer, but she knew that Crowley needed to say it outloud. 

“No...no, he didn’t. He was just as upset as I was. He was already in tears when I got here, that’s how I knew something was wrong.” 

“Right,” Miss Nancy nodded, taking a sip of her tea. Before anything else could be said, Mary came bursting into the shop with the bearing of someone ready to do battle. For the next ten minutes, Crowley and Miss Nancy explained the whole situation to Mary, who took it almost as well as her love had. 

“So, the question is, how are we going to get him back,” Miss Nancy said. “Because we can’t just let them take your man, my dear.” 

“He’s not...ngk…” Crowley choked, looking down at his hands, and the two old ladies scoffed simultaneously. 

“Don’t you give me that, young man! I’ve seen the way the two of you look at each other!”

“Urk...Each other? He...he looks too? You really think he feels the same way?” 

“Take it from two old lesbians who’ve seen almost everything there is to see under the sun,” Mary told him. “That angel feels just as strongly for you as you do for him. I’m not going to put the words to it,” she shook her head. “You deserve to hear them from him. And we’re going to figure out how you can get to do that, right now. Between the three of us, we’ll find a way.” 

“Why did you say that they set him to you in the first place, Anthony dear?” Miss Nancy asked, frowning in thought. 

“I was...how did he put it...slipping away from my path.” 

“So...if we found a way to make them think that you’d lost your way, were falling away, they might send him back!” Miss Nancy grinned at the idea, and Crowley shrugged, helpless. 

“He’s an angel, though. I’m just a human, what could he possibly see in me. He’s so perfect…” 

Miss Nancy snorted in a most unladylike manner. “A perfect bastard, maybe,” she muttered, then turned to face Crowley properly. “None of that, now, young man. You are both completely deserving of each other. There is no ‘worthy’ and ‘unworthy’, after all, there are just the people we love. And take it from me, Anthony Jay Crowley, Aziraphale does. Just as much as you do.” 

Mary sat forward, an odd light in her eyes. “So, it was all about you slipping away,” she mused. “What if...what if you started doing ‘evil’ things? And...is there a way you could TELL them about it?”

Miss Nancy frowned and stood, walking off into the stacks, leaving the other two staring after her in confusion. Before they could either call out or stand up to follow her, she came back with a large leather bound volume cradled in her arms. “Here we go,” she sat back down and opened it before Crowley could parse the intricate text inscribed on the cover. She flipped through the pages, pausing on one occasionally and scanning down the columns of text swiftly, finger tracing lightly over the lines of fine print. She finally sat back with a satisfied grunt. “There,” she tapped a finger on the page. “That’s what we want. If it works, you’ll be able to drive Gabriel mad.” 

Crowley didn’t quite snatch the book, but he did accept it from Miss Nancy with a certain economy of motion. The page was about praying to angels, and he frowned with confusion. “Are you sure this will work?” 

“Yes,” Miss Nancy said definitively, leaving no room for doubt, and Crowley decided to take her at her word. He read over the short passage and felt the corners of his mouth lift in what was definitely not a smile, but felt rather like a feral grin. He could work with this. 

“Okay, so we need to come up with things for you to do. Things that have a nice, wide area of impact. You don’t want to hurt people, but if you inconvenience them...well, there’s a reason why marches work, and it’s not just getting our voices out there. You inconvenience that many people, create wide-spread disruption of their day, their annoyance tends to spill out onto the people around them. You want to create plenty of low-grade...evil, for lack of a better word.” The expression on Miss Nancy’s face showed her clear annoyance at not being able to think of a better word, and Crowley had a feeling she didn’t believe in ‘evil’ as people defined it. 

Crowley frowned in thought, considering. Things that would annoy a great many people, causing them to spread their annoyance to the people around them. He needed to target people who deserved it, too. He wasn’t willing to hurt people who didn’t deserve it to get Aziraphale back; his angel wouldn’t thank him for that. 

Mary and Miss Nancy both leaned forward and started making suggestions, and Crowley began to write notes. Some of the things the harmless looking ladies suggested made his eyes bulge. He grinned as he scrawled down ‘glue coins to pavement’. He was going to have to go and buy himself a whole bunch of superglue. 

“Ooooh, I’ve got something,” MIss Nancy said suddenly. “What if...what if we somehow made the interwebs stop working?”

“The internet?” Mary turned to her wife (they were wearing rings today, so Crowley felt he could now safely use the title) with a sceptical lift on an eyebrow. “How are we supposed to take down the internet?” 

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know, but I think Doris might have some ideas!” Miss Nancy grinned brightly. “She’s always so good with computers, she’s sure to have something we can do!” 

“Hmmm,” Mary seemed to be thinking, then she gave a decided nod. “Alright, we’ll call her. For now, Crowley, what do you think you’ll do today?” 

“I’m going to go get some pound coins out of the change box and buy some superglue. Then I might just make some rude people shoplift, and there’s a food cart near my old offices, the owner’s horrible but the food is pretty decent, maybe we can find a way to spike it. Ooooh and I’m going to order some Haribo sugar-free gummy bears and put bowls of them out in as many office break rooms as I can get into.” Mary roared with laughter, while Miss Nancy just looked confused. 

“Go. Nancy will mind the shop for you, won’t you, love?” Miss Nancy nodded, eyes sparkling with mischief as she shooed Crowley towards the door. 

“Go get our boy back, Anthony,” she ordered. “Make them regret taking him away.” 

The reminder of why he was doing this struck Crowley firmly in the solar plexus, and he nodded, suddenly grim. The fun of the mischief he was planning to make was greatly lessened by the reasons why he was planning to make it. He pulled out his phone and swiftly ordered two five pound bags of the sugar free gummy bears, and paid for the fastest possible delivery. 

The order on its way, Crowley walked to a nearby cornershop and bought several tubes of superglue. He had a whole pocket full of pound coins, and he stopped, leaning against a street sign, and applied a liberal amount of glue to one side of one, then carefully dropped it straight down onto the pavement, stepping on it as though trying to stop it from rolling away. He couched as though to pick it up, then began to fuss with his shoelace while he waited to be sure the setting time had passed. He straightened then and, when a large group of people came along, moved off with them and left his little trap there on the ground. 

He created twenty such traps around London that day, and did manage to stop by the food truck near the law offices, which he noted were still closed. In fact, the building appeared to be undergoing some kind of hazardous material treatment, and a flush of pride at his angel’s accomplishment filled Crowley with warmth. He was early, before the lunch rush, and ordered something he knew that the man never actually had ready to go. The flustered expression that spread over the unpleasant man’s face had him suppressing a smirk, and when he flipped open a door under the cart and disappeared up to his shoulders, Crowley pulled a bottle of ex-lax out of his pocket and poured it into the large vat of tomato salsa, mixing it in before the man could stand and make his excuses for why he couldn’t supply something on his menu. 

“Never mind then,” Crowley turned away, shaking his head. “Don’t feel like anything else,” he rejected the offer of something else to eat. He walked away and truly he didn’t feel hungry although he probably should. He hadn’t eaten since the previous afternoon, but the idea of eating when Aziraphale couldn’t made his stomach rebel. Instead, he went looking for something else to do. He noted that superglue could be used for more than just gluing coins to the sidewalk, although that was an excellent use for it. He was thinking that as he watched a scowling young business man jumping on one foot, having kicked the pavement in an effort to dislodge one of his coins. 

He thought, trying to decide what else to get up to today. He didn’t have to worry about work; he hadn’t finished the incorporation paperwork yet, so he couldn’t actually do business. He slipped into a supermarket and wandered quietly, watching and waiting. It didn’t take long.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know why there isn’t any on the shelf…” the voice was young and tremulous, and Crowley’s insides began to boil as he listened to the fear in it. 

“REALLY? I thought it was your JOB to know, you useless, fat cow! Too lazy by half, that’s what it is. Well, what are you waiting for? Go FIND SOME!” The fast footsteps away, and the soft sobbing that echoed off the shelves, enraged Crowley completely. He glanced around, trying to choose something, and then he saw exactly what he wanted - rare, expensive and small. There weren’t many things in a supermarket that fit that description, so this was perfect. He took the little plastic container off the shelf, weighing it in his hand. Very light, and smaller than a matchbox. No one would believe it was worth as much as it was, but it was a labour intensive product after all. He grabbed another two before moving on. 

Crowley slipped around the corner and had no problem zeroing in on his target. The hands propped on the hips, the furious scowl twisting what could have been attractive features, the way other shoppers were ducking around without really looking at them. Crowley was quite cross that no one had had the guts to speak up for the poor shop assistant, but at the same time he understood it. No one wanted to bring that kind of behaviour down on themselves, after all. 

With his mind firmly focussed on the prize, Crowley sized up his target. It was a long time since he’d tried to pick anyone’s pocket, and he was a lot bigger now than when he’d done it before. The way the woman was standing left him with very few viable places to stash the little packets of product, or so he thought until he saw the handbag left sitting, virtually ignored, in the trolley. It was even slightly open. Crowley sauntered along the aisle, eyeing the shelves and timing his approach carefully. 

He watched someone approach from the other end of the aisle and a plan fully formed in his mind. He watched them and paused when they did, taking random items from the shelves without really caring what he grabbed. He timed it just right and reached the entitled woman’s trolley just as the other shopper did. He politely ducked out of the approaching woman’s way, which put him very briefly between the ‘Karen’ and her trolley. 

With lightning fast hands, he slipped the three packets into the handbag without looking like he was touching it, then slipped away. He made his way towards the front of the store and decided that hanging around to see the fallout might be worth it. With that in mind, he paid for the odd selection of items he’d grabbed off the shelf to account for his presence, then took the bag and walked to the coffee cart only a few meters from the front of the door. He ordered, and received, a latte and moved to a position that afforded him a good view of the counters and their electronic loss prevention scanners. 

He didn’t have long to wait. Soon enough, along came ‘Karen’, trailed by a blotchy faced, plump, teenage shop assistant, and Crowley’s blood boiled. He wished he could have done more, and wondered if there was a way to get the woman a parking ticket as well. He watched, eyes narrowed, as her items were scanned and bagged while she stood with crossed arms and a tapping foot, then swiftly paid and went to take her leave, only for the store alarm to begin shrilling as she tried to pass through the detectors. 

He watched, eyes narrowed, as the security guard descended on the protesting woman, demanding that she turn out her handbag and produce her receipt. The woman was clearly objecting, because the guard was pointing to the sign that stated the shop reserved the right to check anyone’s bag. The guard finally got the bag and began sifting through the contents, only to lift out the three packets of saffron. The woman could clearly be seen objecting, but the security guard was having none of it, gesturing for her to follow him. What came next was beyond anything Crowley had expected - when the guard picked up the woman’s handbag and gestured for her to follow him, she punched him full in the jaw, snapping his head around, and he staggered backwards, tripped on something Crowley couldn’t see, and fell, smashing his head head on the counter. Crowley stared, horrified, as the man lay on the floor, then grabbed for his phone. They needed an ambulance. He punched 999 and waited, anxious, for an ambulance. Inside the shop, meanwhile, the woman was staring in shock at the man on the floor. He saw that someone else inside had their phone out but didn’t hang up, in case he reached an emergency operator first. 

“Hello, 999, what is your emergency?” 

“Yes, hello, a woman has struck a security guard at the Tesco on Oxford Street. He fell over and struck his head, hard, against a metal bench. I think he’s unconscious? I’m sorry, I’m outside the shop and just happened to see it happen, I don’t want to insert myself into the situation, but the guard hasn’t moved since he fell so I do think he’s unconscious.” 

“Ahh, I see here that we have someone inside the store on the phone, so thank you for your call, we appreciate you doing your best for others.” The operator rang off the call just as Crowley heard sirens approaching and he watched a police car and an ambulance both pull up. He was rather amazed at the response time but thought they must have just gotten lucky, the vehicles must have been nearby. 

Crowley didn’t think he breathed properly until he saw the security guard sit up, with some assistance from the paramedics, and say something that had everyone except the police and the woman who had assaulted him laughing hysterically. Crowley turned away, swallowing hard. He hadn’t expected anything to go that wrong, but then he had set out to ruin people’s day. Then Aziraphale’s face flashed through his mind and he nodded. It was absolutely worth it, he couldn’t leave his angel there. 

It was getting late in the afternoon, so he headed back towards the shop, taking the time to glue down another few pound coins, along the way. He decided to mix it up a bit and dropped some fifty pence pieces as well, then wondered how hard it would be to get his hands on some counterfeit notes. He could put them someplace that the cheapskates in the big office buildings would pick them up, and then have their day ruined and be totally embarrassed when a shopkeeper ran a test and found that the notes were fake. 

He was still ruminating on that idea when he got back to the shop where Miss Nancy and Mary were waiting for him. 

“Well?” “How’d it go?” the two listened raptly to his recitation of ‘evil deeds’ for the day, chuckling and wincing along with him. 

“Tell you what, how about you let us do the shoplifting gag from now on,” Miss Nancy suggested with a grin. “No one suspects little old ladies, after all. You’d be amazed what you can get away with when your hair is bone white.” 

Crowley chuckled as nodded, gladly acquiescing to allowing them to handle any further jobs involving supermarkets. He would stick to ones that were hopefully less likely to get a person punched in the face. 

“Well, aren’t you going to...report in?” Miss Nancy’s eyes sparkled and Crowley gulped. He had been planning on doing this without an audience, but it was quite obvious that that was not going to be an option. The two ladies were watching him closely and he sighed before setting down his cup of tea and folding his hands. 

“To the Arch-douche bagel Gabriel, who is in Heaven, I pray,” he began. “On this day, and to dishonour your name, I have glued forty coins to the footpaths of London, which will cause many people to stub their toes or become irate when they are unable to pick them up. They will then take their temper out on the people near them, which will create an environment of ill-will all through the city. I tricked a woman into stealing from a supermarket and when she was caught she did bodily harm to another human, putting her soul in jeopardy. This also spread great joy at her misfortune amongst the other humans, leaving a stain on their souls that will be difficult to bleach out, I’m sure. I put a minor poison in the food at a cart that services many law and business offices, giving a great many men who think themselves ‘important’ very uncomfortable bellies, which will lead to them being irritable to outright angry with their their staff, colleagues and families, again creating an environment of great ill-will that will put their souls at risk. I’m going home now, but I’ll be sure to keep you apprised of what I think of in the morning. Want me to stop doing these things in your name? Give me Aziraphale back, wholly and completely unharmed. Amen.” 

Miss Nancy and Mary had collapsed over their knees, laughing silently, by the time Crowley had finished his ‘prayer’. Crowley watched them for a long moment, wishing he felt half the level of hilarity they did in the whole situation. Without knowing for sure that it would work, though, all he felt was the gut-clenching fear and pain of his current circumstances. 

“So,” Miss Nancy said after she had her laughter under control. “Now, Doris thinks she can come up with something that will crash some websites, the question becomes what we want to crash. She’s going to create a robot…”

“A bot, dearheart,” Mary interrupted and Miss Nancy rolled her eyes. 

“A bot, then, that will spam it to the point it recognises that it’s being attacked and reacts accordingly, by shutting down. It’s something that can just be triggered by a lot of people accessing the website at once. Which websites do you think we should focus on?” 

Crowley frowned in thought. They needed ones that would cause major issues, but ones that were also potentially vulnerable to the type of attack that was being described. They also needed to be certain that the person doing the attacking would be safe from any kind of legal reprisals. 

“Maybe there are some government systems we could disable?” Miss Nancy suggested, grinning. “Or some of those shopping websites, that should get plenty of people hot under the collar, mess with all those capitalists to boot.” 

Crowley grinned at the suggestions, showing plenty of teeth. “Ask Miss Doris what she thinks she can work with, out of those suggestions,” he said, and Miss Nancy grinned. 

“Excellent. I knew you were a sensible boy and would see the need for this.” Miss Nancy’s grin achieved shark-like proportions in short order and Crowley chuckled. 

“Well, let’s shut up shop, then you’re coming home with us,” Mary declared, and Crowley blinked, surprised. 

“Urk...what?” he asked intelligently, and Mary and Miss Nancy sighed. 

“Are you sure he’s a lawyer, love? He doesn’t seem to have the best grasp of plain English,” Mary asked Nancy, and Crowley glared. “You’re coming home with us for your own good. It’s best that you not be alone right now.” 

Crowley briefly thought about arguing with them, then considered actually going home alone. To an apartment with no Aziraphale in it to eat food and make happy noises, to wiggle, to read books and babble about them, to try new things and get excited by them, to watch movies with and wrinkle his nose adorably. The idea of going home to an empty apartment was horrible and Crowley gratefully accepted the (non-negotiable) offer. 

They had a quiet night in the little house, Miss Nancy putting Crowley in the guest bedroom and ordering him to sleep. Crowley hadn’t believed that he would, but somehow sleep snuck up on him and the next thing he knew there were fine lines of light falling across the wall opposite the bed. 

The second day, Crowley arrived at the shop to find the gummy bears had been delivered, and he grinned as he weighed the heavy packets in his hands. He knew exactly what businesses he was going to target with these; all of the corporate offices that his old law firm had worked for. He had a good suit on, he would blend right in. They were in an area of London he hadn’t targeted yet, so he took a bunch of pound coins and fifty pence pieces with him, along with a tube of superglue. It never hurt to be thorough. 

By the end of the day, Crowley had seeded eight office lunchrooms with the demon-bears from hell, and when he’d made a brief pass back through one of the offices later in the afternoon, he’d been greeted with such a smell, and the sounds that were echoing out from the loos were descriptive, to say the least. He wondered how long it would take for someone else in the building to call emergency services thinking that there was something seriously wrong with their upstairs neighbours.   
He had glued a variety of coins to the sidewalk, and in a few places on public toilet counters. He knew they would create a great deal of annoyance that people would then take out on others, spreading a low-level miasma of evil around. He wondered if he could create some kind of traffic jam on the M25, but the idea of making the Bentley break down was horrifying to him. He had had a wave of genius while walking past a bank. He walked until he found a street vendor and bought a pair of knock-off sunglasses and a very hipster hat which he donned before he went up to the first ATM he found. He carefully concealed his hand as he requested a bank balance, no withdrawal, and while his hands were obscured he applied a line of superglue to the slot that normally dispensed the funds. Taking his card and receipt, he walked away. He repeated that particular activity at several other ATMs, not noticing when he acquired a diminutive, dark haired follower who watched him with narrowed eyes as he went about his mischief. 

Miss Nancy and Mary reported to him by phone that their friend had been successful in her mission four times over, but hadn’t gone into any more detail on the phone. Miss Nancy had sounded like she thought she was some kind of secret agent while she was making the call, and it had brought a smile to Crowley’s face. 

By the time he made it back to the shop, Crowley was exhausted but satisfied with his day’s efforts. He had created a great deal of inconvenience and annoyance for a great many people, and most of them would be spreading that annoyance around to others. He grinned outright when he thought about all of the high-powered executives running for their fancily tiled loos. 

“So, we created six different ‘shoplifting’ events,” Miss Nancy reported to Crowley while Mary poured the tea. The tiny woman was sitting so far forward on her seat and bouncing so much in her excitement that Crowley was worried she would fall off and break her hip on the floor. “We went to some of the bigger department stores, rather than the supermarkets. Harrods and Fornam and Mason’s were both such fun. So many very small, very valuable items, and so many overly entitled, rude people to punish with them.” Miss Nancy grinned in a very satisfied manner. “Like I told you on the phone, four different websites were taken out of commission completely. She actually managed to take down Amazon for almost a full hour, which was apparently very difficult to manage. She was right proud of herself for that one. She wasn’t so sure about doing the government websites, too many of the crashable ones are ones that people depend on when they’re in dire straits, but she did manage to shut down the customer support sites for several of the big phone companies.” 

Crowley grinned. Amazon going down would have been amazing, he wished he could have seen people’s faces. Once he was sure he had all of the day’s events straight in his head, Crowley nodded and closed his eyes. “To the Archangel Gabriel, who is in Heaven, I pray. Just in case my prayers of yesterday did not reach you, allow me to let you know again what took place.” He swiftly enumerated the events of the day before then, after a pause to take a breath, he continued. “On this day, in your name to bring you the greatest possible dishonour, I have orchestrated the shutdown of a number of websites which people depend on for various things. This will have created confusion, chaos, anger and misery for these people, and as you are aware with humans when they are feeling bad they tend to try to share that feeling around. I have sown misery into the lives of millions of humans in your name. I have also spread a particularly nasty little sweet through eight corporate offices of men who think themselves better than those around them, causing them to suffer painful and long lasting physical and mental effects. Not only will they suffer, but they are the type of people who will often inflict their suffering on those around them. 

“I have organised six different shoplifting events which have created chaos and discord in some of London’s biggest shopping centres, and I’m sure at this point I don’t need to rub the point in that everyone who I’m giving a bad day to is going to give it to a great many other people. 

“I have glued shut at least five ATM’s, rendering people unable to withdraw their money from the bank and creating a great many customer complaints and disgruntlement based on their not working. All of those customers and the staff who had to deal with them, again, very bad days. I glued more coins to the sidewalk, blessing each in your name, so every time someone trips on one or curses because they are not able to take it, that's got to count as bad news for you directly, I hope. I think that’s everything. I’ll let you know if I left anything out. You know how to stop this, Gabriel. Send me back Aziraphale and I will make all of this stop. Don’t, and I’ll just keep thinking of more terrible things to do to you. Amen.” 

Slow clapping from the door of the shop brought all three occupants to their feet, staring at the person in the entrance. “Can we help you?” he asked, uncertain. Was this Miss Nancy’s hacking friend, perhaps?

“Actually, I believe I may be in a pozzzition to be able to help you,” the diminutive figure stepped forward and Crowley took them in, uncertain. A dirty, tattered suit, pale skin topped with messy hair and...was that a fly perching above their ear?

“And you would be?” he asked, voice trailing off leadingly as he waited. 

“Beelzebub. Prince of Hell. I’ve been enjoying your work for the last couple of days, let me tell you. It’s been a delightful experience, seeing someone who understands humans so well use that to take them apart.” 

Crowley blinked in surprise even as he accepted the handshake Beelzebub offered. 

“A pleasure to meet you, your...how does one address a Prince of Hell?” Crowley cocked, his head to the side, uncertain. 

“Carefully,” Beelzebub said dryly, then shrugged. “You may call me Lord Beelzebub.” They looked around the bookshop, eyes narrowing in consideration. “This place reeks of angel.” 

Crowley bristled slightly at that, but Beelzebub was already continuing. “Then again, I suppose it would be, what with you trying to get the wank wings to give you one...or is it return one?” 

Crowley considered the question; it felt like there might be a hook in it somewhere waiting to catch him. “He was already sent to me once, then they decided he’d finished his job. I want him back.” 

“Hmmmm,” Beelzebub nodded slowly. “And have you considered the...consequences for living your life with an angel? What it will do to him when you eventually age and die, for example? We don’t do well in dealing with the mortality of humans, particularly those we care about.” Their face shifted minutely for a second, then they straightened. “Perhaps we could come to some kind of an...arrangement?” 

“What did you have in mind?” Crowley asked, gesturing Beelzebub towards one of the seats and, once they were seated, taking one for himself and leaning forward, wanting to hear every word.

~~~@@@~~~

The next evening, Crowley sank down with an exhausted sigh onto a seat in the bookshop. What a day! More Haribo gummy bear placements, three more spiked food carts, ten shoplifting incidents by the most wonderful women he had ever met, and somehow taking down all of London’s traffic lights and setting them to red. Just a permanent state of red in every direction, on every traffic light in the city. She’d somehow also found the time to take down the GPS satellite link that supported Google maps for London. The chaos had been incredible, but Crowley had also paid for that one since he’d gotten caught in an area he was unfamiliar with, organised an Uber and then had the driver get hopelessly lost when the outage occurred. 

Finally he was sitting down, reading to give his report. He bowed his head and clasped his hands, attempting to look as devoted and prayerful as possible. “To the Arch Dickface, Gabriel, I do present my petition and humble offering this day. To bring you the greatest possible dishonour on this day, I have ruined the functioning of London’s traffic system…” Crowley kept praying, his closed eyes blinding him to the brilliant flash of light that filled the shop. 

“Please, please, for the love of everything, STOP,” Crowley snapped upright, staring at the tall and ridiculously handsome man standing in the middle of the bookshop. “You win. I’ll give you the angel back. Just please, stop.” Crowley blinked in surprise. He’d thought, and so had Beelzebub, that it would take longer than this. 

“I’ll need some guarantees,” Crowley said, fishing a stack of papers out of his briefcase and laying them on the coffee table. “Binding contracts. You sign with your Holy Sigil, blood and Name that you will leave Aziraphale with me, and leave him alone without cutting him off from Heaven, for the duration of my life. He is here to stay as long as I am living here. You also guarantee that no one working under the auspices of Heaven - and that includes anyone you contract to, ask for a favor or in any other way hint that you would like something done - will act against me to shorten my life.” 

“And what, exactly, do I get out of this?” Gabriel asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I stop,” Crowley grinned toothily. He didn’t say anything further, just extended the contract to Gabriel and hoped he had rendered the archangel desperate enough that he wouldn’t read it too closely and see how much leeway he had left for himself. 

Gabriel lifted the contract and flipped through it, frowning at the lines of text, then nodded and raised his thumb to his mouth. He slid it against his incisor tooth and a bead of golden blood welled up there. He pressed it to the paper and Crowley watched as it swirled to create what he had to assume was Gabriel’s seal. 

“I will be having this checked, so don’t try to sign with something other than your name. And I won’t be signing my side of it until yours is signed.” Gabriel frowned and the sigil swirled for a moment longer before settling. He then drew a fountain pen out of his pocket and signed his name far more prosaically on the paper. 

“I’ll have him down within the hour. Sooner, if possible.” Gabriel handed the papers back to Crowley, who took them and forced himself not to smile. It was all coming together. 

Crowley was standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the shop, clearly anxious as he kept glancing in both directions, when Aziraphale rounded the corner. Aziraphale called out his name, already running down the sidewalk. Crowley whirled, eyes wide and expression desperate, and then he was running too, arms outstretched. They collided hard, and the only reason they didn't bounce off each other was because they were already locked in a very firm embrace.

"Crowley, Crowley, Crowley," Aziraphale chanted, hands rubbing over the human's back as though trying to confirm he was real by touch alone.

"Angel. You're here, you're really here!" Crowley suddenly lifted Aziraphale completely off the ground, swinging him around, and Aziraphale yelped then laughed. When Crowley set him down, he leant back and looked him full in the face.

"I...Crowley, I never got to tell you. I love you, Anthony J. Crowley. With everything I am, I love you."

Crowley blinked hard, staring down at Aziraphale, then his face broke into an enormous grin. "I love you too, Angel, I love you too."

They hugged again, laughing then pulled back to look at each other once more. The frenetic energy of the reunion faded a little as they looked at each other, and Crowley leaned down slowly towards Aziraphale, expression intent. Aziraphale, realising where this was going, turned his face up to meet Crowley's properly as he pressed his lips softly, gently to the angel's.

Aziraphale pressed gently up into the embrace, the kiss a simple soft press of lips that felt absolutely amazing.

Crowley pulled back to beam down at Aziraphale. "We're going to have to go to Nonna's. She and Rosa were so worried when you had to leave." Aziraphale made a soft sound, not agreeing or disagreeing, and burrowed closer in Crowley's embrace. “First, though, we have to let Miss Nancy and Mary know that you’re back, they’ve been amazing.” 

"I thought I would never see you again," the blonde muttered in the redhead's shoulder, who made a pained noise and tightened his grip on the angel again, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Ten minutes later, another flash of light briefly filled the shop. “Hang up the connection, would you?” Gabriel’s frustrated voice snapped. “I really don’t want to know what exactly you’re getting up to, drinking tea and cuddling and whatnot. Please, just say it so I can stop listening?”


End file.
